Blood of Malice - Sev's Perspective
by Sev Baggins
Summary: It's like the Transcendent version, only now completely Sev, first person. :) Mind, these stories are really sappy. No sex scenes, no swearing, no slash, but lots of romance, especially towards the end. Summary: Seville, a creature too dark to exist, is exiled to Middle Earth. She becomes the closest companion of Frodo Baggins, and journeys with him to destroy the One Ring.
1. Life is meant to be pain

**Here's Sev's perspective (she's a bit quirky, so it's different here . . .) on her adventure with Frodo. This offers a bit of insight into her character, and I'll be uploading chapters pretty fast, seeing as how this is already all written. I just didn't want it all to be one chapter; it comes out to over 73,000 words and that would be silly. XP I hope you like this one! Like I said, not as good as the Transcendent.**

Where to begin? I suppose at the beginning. That phrase . . . such a dark one. It's full of the past, the pain and blackness that skims your entire life, only to end at the circumstances you were born into. I hope, for most, that it was a happy time. I know it was for my dear Frodo, much less everyone else in the Shire.

But I was not of the Shire. Not at first.

I didn't remember my birth, although I wasn't quite . . . born to begin with. I had no parents. I was told by everyone I knew, all but those I trusted most, that my father had probably been killed in war and my mother in childbirth.

The two people that actually knew me, the Guardian Willation and my caretaker Sheratan, never said anything. I suppose I didn't think to ask; I just assumed they agreed with everyone else.

For 33 years, I lived that way, believing my parents were dead and I would be with them again someday. Life was not difficult, external of little hope for the future and consistent pain that I didn't understand. I had the two most powerful creatures in the world to guard me, creatures I knew better than anyone else who were powerfully attracted to each other. Only did I ever see them kiss twice, and those were the only kisses I ever saw. But I knew it must feel good . . . Willation would leave, and Sheratan would have to sit down and smile to herself. I wanted to be just like her, if not only in that regard. That, however, was the most important to me for some odd reason, which I discovered later.

That later came two months and five days after my 33rd "birthday". Willation and Sheratan were gone, as they always were for my birthday, visiting Sheratan's incarceration home from the time of my birth. Usually they were home by midnight, but in this case, they had not come back, as I said, for a couple of months. No one at the palace or in the Royal Guard knew where they were or why they'd been gone so long. Puzzled and certain I was old enough to discover for myself, I shuffled through Willation's maps until I found one titled Anniversary. It showed a path through the Universal Trails, all the way from the capital of Lavwu, where I was, through a planet called Hazharia to Mountain Demonsdorre.

Since they'd always made it back before midnight, I assumed I could as well, and therefore packed little more than food. Despite the fact that I was about half the size of most people, I ate tons and still didn't grow. I wondered if a journey would help at all, and counted on it.

The journey was altogether uneventful. I found the bridge between worlds very quickly, and could envision the location of Hazharia in my head. It was actually disappointing, relative to all the books I'd read, that I didn't have to go far at the start. I ended up in Hazharia with a quick slurp of the tunnels, and had not taken twenty steps total on my journey before I could see Demonsdorre beyond some trees.

I sighed. I'd actually brought my dagger Willation had forged for me, probably anticipating running into something dangerous or accidentally losing my food and having to hunt my own. Only mildly relieved that my life would not be at risk, I readjusted my pack of food and kept walking.

An hour later, I was panting hard and had easily run out of water. I was about a third of the way to Demonsdorre, which was a lot larger and a lot farther away than I had realized. My throat scratched with the distance, and my legs ached with fire. Muddled, I slumped to the ground, shoving air in and out of my body as fast as it could go.

After an additional thirty minutes, my legs trembled, attempting to crash down in place. I eventually spotted a stick that I had to wrench from the side of a tree, which only spent my strength but was definitely worth the effort.

Only ten minutes after I located the stick, I had retrieved another and began using them as crutches, resting one foot at a time while I progressed. Demonsdorre seemed barely closer, even after so long of walking. I ate what I had and discarded the pack and my heavy cloak to the side.

Silver lining: at least it was dangerous for me to be where I was.

That picked up my spirits a little. I was at risk, and I actually felt myself gaining speed at the revelation. I began to peer about at my sides and back, expecting a predator, pirate, or refugee to come out at me.

It was dark when I finally snapped out of my adventures, and only because I heard something. I glanced up, only to spot Sheratan and Willation on the cliff above. They weren't even on Demonsdorre. They had probably been coming down, but Sheratan was kneeling on a jagged rock, sobbing into Willation's shoulder. He held her tighter than I'd ever seen him, and he smoothed her hair with his hand.

I reached out to call for them, but I felt an icy, burning, all-around destroying pain crunching the inside of my arm. I couldn't even cry out; my eyes buzzed, and the world dilated into spotted blackness. I blindly stumbled with my right hand for my left wrist and clamped on to it, trying to force the pain out.

Soon I was crying uncontrollably, shouting and gritting my teeth. One moment the world was a mass of roiling pain, and the next Willation was kneeling over me, his hand shaking a receding blackness out of my fingers.

Sheratan was nearby, her eyes dark red, but she was over me as well, trying to help. Once Willation had drawn the blackness together, he pinched all of his fingers into one bunch and pulled it up my arm, under my collarbone, and into my heart. Then he let go and sat back with a deep sigh.

"Seville, are you all right?"

Shaking, I didn't dare respond. I glanced up at Sheratan, who furthered her inquiry by cocking her head at me.

"What was that?" I asked slowly.

Sheratan glanced at Willation.

He had buried his face in his hand, but now looked up at first Sheratan, then me.

"You are 33," he said.

I nodded, doing my best to be patient. I knew he was making an introduction and just trying to calm me down. At the moment, I really didn't care two knives about calming down. But I did my best.

Willation continued. "That is the coming of age of the species where I am going to send you."

I lifted my eyebrows.

"Why?"

"Why their coming of age is 33, because most hobbits mature at about age 33," he said. I knew it was just stalling, and I tried not to say anything. "Why I am sending you, because of this." Willation reached under a nearby rock and, at a sharp gasp from Sheratan, revealed the head of Alshain.

My heart lurched, and the world began to spin madly. My hand drifted towards him, but somehow I knew it was wrong. I tried to resist, but the hand seemed almost a part of him.

Willation grabbed my hand and threw Alshain back under the rock. I immediately snapped away from it and recoiled my hand.

He launched into explanation. Apparently I had been conceived as an experiment, not the typical kind, but the kind that was meant to save a life. In this case, Sheratan's life. Not only was she the Author and necessary to the existence of the world, but Willation-something. He never finished that sentence. Anyway, he had to save her, and the only way to do it was to create a new life, a new form that could absorb the poison in her bloodstream and somehow survive. My method of survival was feeding on others' injuries, gaining power by taking their imperfections.

I had no species, and was born in a world of toxins, blood, and tears. Poison was my nature, and goodness could consume me. Only I could revive Alshain, and that was the wrong thing to do.

Sheratan had been crying because she knew I would leave. My bag was packed the next morning, and they both wished me off.

Willation flew me through one of the Forbidden Tunnels, through the worlds that we cannot interfere with. I would never see him or Sheratan again, not until we all died.

If I ever did.

I held him hard. He warned me before he left never to fall in love with a man that couldn't help me. I didn't understand him, but promised to do my best with his request, even though I didn't intend to live the day out. I didn't tell him, but he knew I would just find a quiet corner and waste away. He pecked my forehead and was gone.


	2. When I met Frodo Baggins

**Although this part is mostly exposition for sake of introducing later stakes, I figured 3100 words is enough for a chapter. When I wrote this the concept of chapters was too distracting . . . so I just wrote it out. Now dividing it is interesting. Let's see if the breaches are in the right places. :)**

When I turned around, the tunnel zipped closed behind me, leaving me in this place until the day my blood ran dry and I died. It was very beautiful; hills dotted in bright green trees rolled all over. Creeks ran from behind to forward as far as the eye could see, and the sky was crystal blue. I inhaled deeply, feeling the air around me sizzle against my skin with the tingle of clean oxygen.

 _I despise oxygen_.

Where that came from, I had no idea, and I decided to leave it alone until I understood where I was and what I was doing. I began simply to walk. Willation had told me the poison that made up my bloodstream would run out. All I could do was see of this world what I could before I succumbed to death, and neither of us knew what to do about that.

Until I heard a voice.

"Frodo! Frodo, where are you?"

I hissed, rolling under a nearby log. I saw a boy, a dirt-covered little thing with orange, slightly curly hair. To my ultimate shock (and subsequent eye-widening), he was a bit shorter than I grew up to be. No one was ever that short, except for the children. This one looked almost adolescent at best.

"Frodo!" he called out.

"I'm over here, Sam." The response was softer and sweeter, as though this other boy was off somewhere else . . . in his head. Initially, my gaze shot around in a circle, and I spotted a pair of icy blue eyes staring right back at me. They were soft, young eyes, unburdened and . . . and . . . beautiful. When he finally seemed to break away, I got a look at the rest of him. He was rather slight, and his feet were huge. His hair was dark and curly, down to his shoulders. He had pointed Elvish ears. Admittedly, he looked amazing. I blinked, staring. My head cocked.

Sam's feet bounded over my log, blocking my vision for a flash of a moment. I shrank back into my shadows.

"Frodo, I finished the flowers! I thought you might want to come and see."

Frodo smiled at him, stood, and followed. I spotted the book he set down behind him, and once he had walked away, I snaked through the grass and snatched it despite myself, pulling immediately back. Glancing behind me, I caught Frodo's eyes. He smiled a little encouragingly, if not uneasily, and I glared, pulling away. He shrugged and caught up to Sam.

Mesmerized, I froze whenever I saw him. He was the sweetest young hobbit I ever saw, and I saw the whole Shire in the course of five years, much less the most attractive of the lot. Most were rather rotund and relaxed, but this one was slender and bookish. Very bookish. I picked up all the books he read, and I loved them. Most of them; the more historically accurate and boredly written, the less I liked it.

Well, after five years, something interesting happened. Frodo always saw me, always waved, but I never acknowledged him back. What would I say? I found out eventually. Sam saw me once.

"Frodo, what is that?"

Frodo smiled. "One of us, Sam. Do you want to come out now?"

Sam basically pulled me out . . . indirectly. He insisted that I do so, and offered a hand to me, but I refused to take it. I growled and backed away. He had a cut on his shoulder-I could feel it, and I didn't want to react to it. He sighed and backed away.

"It's no use, Frodo. Better luck next time."

Sam began to walk away, but Frodo knelt down next to my log. My eyes widened. I hadn't ever imagined being so close to him. Well, I had, but not like this. I could feel him nearby now, more vibrantly than I ever could have concocted in my own mind. His breathing was calm and slow, certainly unlike mine.

He held out his hand. "What is your name?" he asked, such an innocent question relative to my response. His eyes shimmered.

"Seville," I said slowly. My voice was a squeaking crack.

Frodo cocked his head. "Seville . . . ?"

I shrugged. "I don't have a last name." I was shaking harder than a leaf in a gale, but gaining confidence quickly enough as I realized I could say words and someone else, much less someone else attractive, could make sense of them.

"I'm Frodo."

I took his hand, but at the sensation that followed, I released it and dashed away under my precious log.

Long story short, I was eventually coaxed into their group, seeing as I didn't know anyone else. While they typically segregated in childhood between males and females, I stayed with Frodo and Sam. Especially Frodo.

I found myself enjoying Frodo's company more and more. He often spoke of distant lands of terrifying dragons, cranky dwarfs, misty mountains, and ancient evils. I would sit, fascinated at every word he said. He was an avid storyteller, very vibrant and passionate in his telling. He was living it; he traversed worlds better than any tunnel ever could have.

And he was very sweet and honorable. He was good-natured, and as a result had many companions that loved him almost as much as I did. They ran about together, occasionally in the dark . . . I utterly refused an invitation to join them in such, which most of the party didn't understand. Frodo did after I explained a little, and seemed to keep that in mind.

Not only that, but Frodo came across typically as a little solemn, but he was a cheerful one, and a little excitable. He loved life, the tedious little things, and small miracles that arose in places. Frivolity was the hobbits' way of life, and he certainly went right along with it.

I almost envied that. Not almost; I craved it.

Admittedly, it wasn't difficult to lose myself in their wild nights at the Green Dragon. I didn't drink much, but worked with Rosie Cotton behind the counter (who, I learned later, was much admired by the dear Samwise, which I told her), and watched Frodo sing and dance with two of his other friends, Merry and Pippin.

The best thing about Frodo, however, was that he seemed to like me back. Although romance was the farthest thing from his realm of thinking, after a few years he greeted me as warmly as his other friends . . . and eventually confided his deepest adventures and desires only in me. I would understand them, but no one else was so intent on exploring beyond the Shire. It was always me, Frodo, and Bilbo, fighting the evil dragon on the Lonely Mountain peak for endless caverns filled with unimaginable wealth.

Eight years passed that way. I felt I had not physically matured in the least, which was mildly disappointing, seeing as suddenly everyone else in the Shire had virtually blossomed. Rosie was a lovely, pink-cheeked young lady that I felt would find a fine suitor somewhere, and I would defend her from the vagabonds until she did. Merry and Pippin . . . were still quite childish in a way, but I found myself seeing them as potential husbands and fathers somewhere, rather good-looking. As for Sam, he grew to be handsome in his own right, a sweet, friendly man of no small green thumb.

Frodo I could hardly hold back from. He became a fine young man, and changed a little. My perspective certainly altered; he had a bit of a mischievous air once I got to know him, only enough to occasionally sneak into farmers' fields for mushrooms or laugh despite himself whenever Pippin fell over. I rarely saw him irritated, and so felt safe.

It became a powerful friendship for me, regardless of what Frodo considered it. As a matter of fact, it transcended that; there were days where I was convinced that I loved him.

Those days were fast, and I tried to ignore them. I didn't want to think about it.

Then came the night of Bilbo's birthday. Gandalf came back that day; he was always one of my favorite travelers, as well as Frodo's . . . but I admittedly resented Gandalf just a little, in a jocose way. The dear wizard accepted blame for nothing, and left at inconvenient times. But he had wonderful stories and a great deal of sarcasm to his name, so I appreciated that.

I was sitting with my back to Frodo, against the tree he was reading by. I'd heard Bilbo calling for him earlier and had come out to fetch him, but was captivated by his riveted stare at the novel he held. I crouched and watched, waiting for him to hear Bilbo and run, leaving the book behind. Of course, he never did; it was a fool's hope, so I sat on the other side of the tree, forgetting my errand, listening to the silence of an enraptured mind.

Suddenly there was a rustle. Frodo had set his book down, and with an anticipatory smile, leaped away and down the nearest slope. I grabbed the book, memorized his page number, tucked it in the front pockets of my dress, and raced after him.

When I got within earshot, I could see him standing on the top of a small carve into the path to the mainland Shire. He had his arms crossed and was staring accusatorily at Gandalf. I knelt to watch. His back was to me.

"A wizard is never late, Frodo Baggins," Gandalf was saying. "Neither is he early; he arrives precisely when he means to!"

I was frightened by the silence that followed, but eased when snickers that burst into laughter swelled against the false solemnity each of them tried to hold.

"It's wonderful to see you, Gandalf!" Frodo cried, leaping into Gandalf's arms. My breath caught, imagining doing that. Gandalf set him down after a moment.

"You didn't think I'd miss your uncle's birthday."

I followed them for some time. The horse was not quick, and it was easy to stay out of sight. They were wrapped up in their own conversation, and need consider nothing else.

"You know Bilbo; he's got the whole place in an uproar," Frodo said at some point along the road. "Half the Shire's been invited, and the rest are turning up anyway!"

They had a good laugh at that, and so did I. They talked about Bilbo's adventure with the dragon, and I heard Frodo's concerns about his uncle. As for me, I was certain Bilbo would be all right. He would probably leave, but what did I care? I'd seen the outside world, and so had Bilbo; he would be just fine.

However, the concern in Frodo's voice frightened me. I despised seeing him solemn or upset, and I tried to keep him as happy as possible. It didn't always work, but he wasn't altogether ridiculously difficult to please. Just rather flighty was all. Life was frivolous for him, and commitments were a flurry of forgotten promises that held no value to anyone.

Except me. That was how I'd been raised, to keep promises. The first time Frodo promised to loan me one of my favorite novels that I had nigh stolen (but he caught me at it) and didn't follow through, I really kind of collapsed. I almost approached him about it . . . until I realized it wasn't out of character for him at all. Admittedly, it was shocking, but not as much as I'd have thought when I considered the logic about how most people felt, particularly in someplace as relaxed as the Shire. I got used to it eventually.

Presently, I was yanked out of my thoughts when Frodo stood up in the wagon.

"Gandalf," he said, "I'm glad you're back."

"So am I, dear boy!"

The moment Frodo turned to get down, I leaped into the side bushes and made sure Frodo wasn't watching when I opened the book and began reading. It was one of those concerning other worlds, distant lands of ancient heroes battling dragons for the fair maiden. So cliché, but I loved them. This one concerned the proud Ythraine, foiled by the squire Thearus in his attempt to overthrow the Great Kingdoms.

The noble, young Thearus had just been rejected training by his roguishly arrogant knight-master when a hand closed around the top of the page. I jumped, releasing the book and scattering into the bush behind me.

Frodo laughed, and I rolled my eyes before emerging.

"You poke thy unbidden hands into my novel, Sir Knave, and so I reclaim it!" I palmed his face, tilting it back, and he slackened his grip in surprise, and so I stole the book back. I had to be fast; I couldn't let him see my face turn bright red when I touched his. His friends did it to him all the time; he probably didn't think I was being strange.

Frodo chuckled again. "It was my world first; this is unjust." I felt a little less foolish when I realized we'd both absorbed the mood of an ancient world.

"You want it? Then come and fight for it!" I turned and abruptly leaped over the bush, tearing away as fast as I could. Frodo was a faster runner than I, in having such large and hardy feet, and he soon overtook me. I certainly felt self-conscious when he touched me, but he really didn't care. With a hand to my shoulder, he spun me around, and I couldn't but give in. A simple tug on the book released it, and Frodo sighed. He sat me down, flipping the book in his hands.

"Sometimes I wonder why you let go so easily." He shrugged, flipping to the page he had been on. 65; three pages before the one I'd ended on. I always said he was a slow reader. He'd had the whole morning to indulge; I didn't know how long my book-life would last, and subsequently I read faster.

I smiled when he was suddenly yanked back into the story. I cautiously laid my head on his shoulder, following the words as thoroughly as possible, as I knew he would.

After a long moment, I waited patiently for him to turn the page. I read the pages again, actually getting a bit impatient to go on. I began memorizing the lines when I realized Frodo never took this long to read. Fearing the worst, I glanced up and noticed he had stretched his neck back and was watching me amusedly.

I yanked away and brushed off my arms, trying to look oblivious, innocent, or at least humorous. I supposed it worked; Frodo chuckled again and turned back to his book.

His eyes grew sharp and focused. They were such a bright blue . . . and his curly hair looked so fluffy just then. He was still somewhat of a youth in many ways, but had grown considerably. His hands were slight and strong, framing living tendons and prevalent knuckles. I watched him for a long moment as he leaned against a nearby tree and stretched his legs out.

Despite myself, I began picking grass to keep my attention off of him. However, while he was here . . .

I cleared my throat a little. I had been debating since the announcement of Bilbo's birthday and the festivities involved whether to ask Frodo if he would specifically accompany me on the dancing floor; or yard, if you please.

"Frodo," I started, hesitant to break him from his distant world. I knew I didn't like it when I was yanked from a novel, but at least I was forgiving about it. Frodo, I wasn't sure. I'd never dared venture that far.

He didn't even pause. He swallowed up the rest of the chapter before he turned to me, his expression questioning.

"I'm sorry-,"

He shook his head, and I knew from the trademark, initial half-grin on his face that he didn't mind.

I swallowed and continued. "Bilbo's birthday-and yours-are to be celebrated tonight, at Bag End . . ." I had to throw back thoughts of Willation and the day I had turned 33, "and I wondered if . . ."

His eyes frightened me. I knew what his answer would be, and still didn't know if I could ask.

He inclined his head.

"You love dancing, do you not?" I finally blurted it. "Could I accompany you . . . tonight?" I had worded it the reverse of what I intended, but hoped it still came across correctly.

He shrugged with a bright, dismissive smile. "Sure!"

My heart leaped. I pushed it back; I was sick of feeling that way. "Really? When do you want to meet me, and where?"

"I'll come get you," he said, falling back into his book. "Right after afternoon tea . . ."

He trailed off. Excited, I glanced from a great a distance as I could to find where he was. A few pages ahead of me, where the lad learned of the princess's plight. So fitting.

I stood abruptly, unable to contain myself.

"See you then!"

Frodo waved distantly, eyes glued to the page. I couldn't help myself; Frodo's acceptance of my request was far too exhilarating. I ran faster than I ever had . . . probably not speaking literally, but I certainly felt I had the energy for it. I cleared many a hill and tree before I bounced excitedly into my little hole under the log I'd made my home. It was well furnished with material I'd purchased from hobbits with no interest in their old furniture. I counted again all that I'd received from Bag End; I treasured it much. I had a bookshelf stocked with books, maps from Bilbo, and an old, silver ring Frodo had found and given to me. I wondered why I didn't wear it much, and slipped it on just then.

I could hardly wait until the moment Frodo would come. Then I had to remind myself: Frodo didn't often keep promises. I calmed a little after that recollection; he never had much to remember and as such was not skilled at it. At least, however, he had agreed. I knew the consequences of my decision. Perhaps this would be different.

"Probably not," I sighed to myself. Of course, if Frodo cared about me as much as I'd wished, he would show up at the designated time, perhaps later.

Afternoon reigned high. I kept to the shadows; I didn't love the sun too much. I wondered if I should wait for Frodo under my log, but felt a deep, pining pull to explore, creep across the shadows like the eccentric I knew I was. I looked toward Bag End, and thought I saw something moving.

 _Give him time_.

So I waited.


	3. Bilbo's birthday and a little aftermath

**As if I thought the last one was a bit long . . .**

Everyone that came by was preparing for the party, to be held in a meadow right across from my burrow. I saw everyone I knew: the Proudfoots, some Tooks, Bagginses, even Gandalf once or twice. Pippin and Merry walked close by my log, probably trying to subtly suggest I come out, but in the seven times they paced past me strutting, Merry only waggled his eyebrows once. I chuckled despite myself.

Later I saw Sam. He seemed dumbfounded. I followed his gaze across the lane . . . to Rosie Cotton. She was setting up garlands and lights, and smiled at him. His eyes flicked away.

I cackled wickedly. Mentally matchmaking was my pastime, whenever Frodo jealously guarded his library and I'd reread my books at home three times. Secondary passion, if you will, and even so, very closely tied to the romantic books I read.

Somehow I wondered if I could set the two of them up. I immediately shoved down the thought, bitterly berating myself for recent attempts at getting Frodo's attention. Eventually, though, I heard a thump above me.

I jolted, and Sam sighed where he sat against my log.

"Sam?"

Sam sat up. "Ms. Sev."

I smiled. He was always so polite, sweet, and a little passive, unfortunately, something I never wanted. I might have married Sam with no reservation. "You all right?"

He sighed again, then glanced at the ground, rubbing his thumbs together. "I'm fine." He paused. "How about you, then?"

I resisted the urge to sigh as well. "You know, just . . . living. As usual." My voice started to crack just a little.

Sam's eyebrows drew together. "You sure?"

I nodded. The "usual" was the problem; I had hoped, once Frodo was somehow an adult, he would start to think about his future a little bit. But it was evident he did not mind. The evening was drawing on. He had failed to show. I leaned back to my chair, clutching my ring.

Sam laid against the log.

Suddenly I had a thought. "Sam, have you spoken to Rosie today?"

Sam froze. Bingo.

"Not that I recollect, Ms. Sev," he said quickly.

I grinned. I'd caught him. "Well, why not? Weren't you the one who was to grow the flowers for the garlands and head-ringlets she made for the evening?"

Sam's face turned just a little pink. "I beg your pardon, Ms. Sev, but there wasn't anything needed to be said, honest."

My smile deepened, as did my inevitable triumph. "Oh, yes, but I'm sure she'd love a sweet 'hello' once in a while." I paused for emphasis, then leaned closer to Sam. "She told me she finds it very tender indeed when a kind young man takes her hand."

He turned bright red at that, and I swallowed a laugh. Oh, he wanted to, but he couldn't have the courage to do so alone. I'd need to teach him. Not that I knew anything.

Sam shook his head. "Today's Mr. Frodo's birthday," he interjected, changing the subject.

I sobered and looked towards the rising banners, ribbons, and lights. The sun collapsed into the horizon behind them . . . just like my hopes. I scolded myself. That sounds ridiculous.

"I noticed."

Sam turned to me. "Ms. Sev?"

I tried to muster a smile. "It's nothing, Sam. I guess . . . oh, I don't know."

Sam frowned. "What?"

I sighed despite myself. "I suppose I almost expected Frodo to accompany me to the party as he said he would."

Sam's eyes deepened, as if lost in thought. It didn't take much.

"Well, I'm sure Mr. Frodo will at least dance with you," he finally offered. "I don't know why it would matter so much, Ms. Sev, but he may yet. He's not flighty on purpose."

I glanced up at Sam. "If not on purpose, then how?"

"He's thinking about other things, Ms. Sev."

I conceded to that, and Sam sheepishly took his leave. Rosie had gone, and so had the sun. Hobbits were gathering at the front gate, and Gandalf made his way down a nearby hill with Bilbo off the distant hill. Frodo would be among the party-goers.

"Time to get out there," I said to myself.

The fireworks were the brightest and loudest of everything. By the time I made myself get up despite the let-down and got over to the party, hobbits were already dancing. Bilbo greeted guests at the front, and I slipped through the gate. Publicity and gifts were not my thing.

"Seville! There you are!" He spotted me anyway, and I smiled.

"Hello, Master Baggins."

"Just Bilbo tonight, my dear." He shook my hand and gestured to the group of hobbits that was gathering to dance. "Pippin's been looking for you. Go on in, enjoy yourself!"

I was about to ask him about Frodo when I spotted Sam, who was sipping ale and watching Rosie; she had gathered quite a following of dancers to begin. The music snapped into motion, and they began to spin, leap, and trade hands with partners. I watched, entranced. Bilbo left me to welcome a family of fourteen at the gate.

In looking for Frodo, I approached Samwise at a nearby table, sneaking glances over his shoulder at Rosie. She smiled at him, then spun away. I laughed to myself. Oh, they needed a catalyst badly enough.

Minutes later, when the music had risen to a proud beat and was in full swing, a cake the size of a Lavwun was brought in, brimming with candles and flowers.

Then I spotted Frodo. He was up by the musicians, dancing in the presence of a young hobbit I knew as Tarrie. While I had never despised the girl (she was relatively pleasant), I then felt a flame of jealousy when she eyed him flirtatiously. I had to look away before I associated her with all the negativities in the world I could potentially think of. I had to assert with myself that she was a wonderful hobbit, and Frodo had no romantic intentions involving anyone. Even if he did, it was for the good of them both.

To keep my mind off of Frodo, I crept up on Sam, standing right behind him on the opposite side of the table. Then I decided it would be more effective if I could get right next to him, and so I did.

"Sam," I said.

He glanced up. "Oh. Hello, Ms. Sev."

I grinned. "So where's Rosie?"

He glanced at the table, his eyes growing wide. "Uh . . . dancing, I think."

I looked back up, and I saw Rosie, but my eyes skipped right over her and to Frodo. His hair was bouncing wildly, and a bright smile radiated from his face.

"An amazing dancer, isn't she?" I said wistfully, trying to concentrate on Sam. I tore my eyes away.

Sam nodded quickly, eyes growing wider. He threw his face and conviction into his ale.

A moment later, Frodo was upon us. He was breathing hard, and sandwiched himself between Sam and myself. I had to slide over in order for him to fit.

"Go on, Sam," Frodo said immediately. "Ask Rosie for a dance!"

Sam stammered, glancing at his mug for help. But I knew it was empty; he'd drained it quickly. "Uh . . . actually, I think I'll just have another ale."

Frodo and I both stared after him for the ten milliseconds it took for Frodo to process. "Oh, no you don't!" Frodo grabbed his shoulders, and aiming at Rosie, he shoved him. "Go on!" Awkwardly, Sam joined hands with Rosie, who just leaped right into the movement. Frodo and I laughed.

Frodo held out his hand. "Come on; let's make sure poor Sam doesn't die of joy just yet."

Feeling mischievous and butterflies coursing through my stomach, I accepted. Frodo was quick, and soon we were both laughing and dancing the night away. There were a few pair dances, square dances, and once Gandalf joined, group dances. I was thanking the Great Creator with everything I had; I enjoyed it so much.

When Frodo eventually admitted he needed a rest, I understood. We were both gasping for air. While it was wistful to leave him (I figured he wanted to be alone), and I had to resist doing anything more than embracing him lightly, I departed immediately and rested myself behind a tent curtain.

Then I heard a sour, female voice. "Bilbo?"

Bilbo's sharp whisper followed. "Frodo! Frodo, it's the Sackville-Bagginses!" I looked around the tent wall I was hiding behind and saw all four of them picking their way towards me. Frodo and Bilbo ducked into a corner near me, and I crouched as Lobelia and her nephew passed.

Frodo and Bilbo were hiding somewhat themselves as well. Frodo was closer to me. When I realized this, my eyes widened, and I glanced up at his face. He smiled, somewhat relieved, but mostly in humor.

"You're a good lad, Frodo." Bilbo grew somber. "And I am selfish. Yes, yes, I'm very selfish; I don't know why I took you on when your mother and father died, but it wasn't out of charity. I suppose I chose you above all my relatives because you were the one Baggins who showed real spirit."

You got that right.

"Bilbo, have you been at the Gaffer's home brew?" Frodo asked, lifting an eyebrow.

Bilbo stammered. "No. W-well, yes, but that isn't the point! The thing is, Frodo, I'm-oh, you'll do all right." With that cryptic statement, Bilbo turned and was gone.

Frodo frowned thoughtfully (probably puzzled), then turned around, nearly stepping on me. Despite myself, I squawked.

Frodo glanced down in surprise. "Sev!"

I looked up at him, wondering if he would be upset that I was eavesdropping. Instead, he sat down, cross-legged, and asked me what I thought of Bilbo recently.

I cocked my head. "Only what I've heard," I said. Frodo had told me Bilbo was planning to leave at some point, and Bilbo confided in me he wanted to see the Elves and the Lonely Mountain. I didn't know that he wanted Frodo to know, so I didn't elaborate.

Frodo glanced at the ground. "He's up to something."

I almost said, "So you told Gandalf," but kept my mouth shut for a moment. Finally I decided on, "Bilbo never really wanted to be kept in the Shire. He may or may not leave, but whatever he was telling you, he obviously doesn't want to be here."

"Maybe he will leave." Frodo looked back up at me. "Maybe he won't." He stood. "His speech will be starting soon."

I stood as well, then followed him back out into the rows of tables and crowds of hobbits. I heard an explosion and a shriek behind us, a firework or something. I turned to see it, and it certainly was a firework, a beam of sparking light that flew into the air and exploded into a bright red dragon. The dragon circled in the sky for a moment, then rounded back inches over the hobbits' heads.

"Frodo, get down!" I called, leaping over tables and hobbits to get to them. I caught up to Frodo and got them out of the way just as the dragon would have singed the older hobbit's hair. The dragon sparked over the fields of the Shire, snapping into the distance. We all stared after it, wondering what had just happened. Then it exploded into a wall of color, and most of the hobbits cheered. I still didn't understand, and turned back to find Gandalf.

Then I saw him twisting the ears of Pippin and Merry.

"Meriadoc Brandybuck," he said, glancing into the blackened face of one, "and Perergrine Took," he said into the face of the other. "I might have known." I couldn't help but watch, amused, as he dragged them by said appendages and threw them into dishwashing.

Then, behind me, I heard mild cheering. I turned quickly to watch everyone gathered at the tables.

"Speech! Speech!" Frodo called, applauding Bilbo as he stood up on an elevated platform. Frodo caught my eye and tapped the seat next to him. I timidly forced my way through the hobbits and sat down. While it was casual for Frodo to put his arm behind a friend when sitting for a while, it froze my spine right away.

Bilbo launched into his speech, his introduction involving the humorous acknowledgment of most of the families that were present. Cheers arose from said hobbits at each naming. He finished with the name, "Proudfoots!" to which it was replied, "ProudFEET!"

We all had our good dear laugh at that. As his speech continued, however, everything quieted. Frodo and I were probably among the few who understood the phrase something along the lines of, "I don't know most of you half as well as I wish I did, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve." I hesitated at that, wondering who he was denoting positively and who he was denoting negatively. I didn't need to ponder it for long; I knew few hobbits, and knew he wasn't referring to any I was hugely familiar with. I bit back a snicker when the other hobbits just sat there, confused.

He stammered, fingering inside his pocket. Frodo's eyebrows drew slightly together, and I realized something was wrong. I stiffened, and in Frodo pulling together, I stiffened more; his arm came to my shoulders, almost protectively.

"I regret to announce," he called out, "that this is the end! I am leaving now." He glanced at me, then Frodo. "Goodbye," he said finally, and promptly vanished.

Frodo and I both straightened. I glanced behind me at Gandalf, expecting him to do more than what he did, which was just narrow his eyebrows at where Bilbo had vanished. Most of the party began to whisper and gasp, questioning what could have happened.

Most questioned Frodo about it, and the gathering crowd forced me off. I ran back to Bag End, having seen Gandalf leave that direction moments before I had gone. I slipped through bushes and up to the house nearby, and I peeked through the window.

"There aren't many magic Rings in this world, Bilbo Baggins," Gandalf had been saying, "and all of them ought to be used wisely."

"I was just having a bit of fun!" Bilbo insisted.

That ring. I knew it. I sat down next to the wall outside the window, and their voices muffled a little. I heard Gandalf's raise, and then Bilbo began to snap a little, hissing and sputtering. I heard words of consolation, then of wistfulness. When I finally lifted my head again, Bilbo was packed and standing by the door. He really was leaving. I almost grumbled thinking he hadn't said goodbye to Frodo . . . but he had. I relaxed and watched.

"Goodbye, Gandalf," was all he said. Gandalf wished him a good journey before Bilbo started out the door. I crept to the front of the house and watched.

Bilbo paused on the step. "Gandalf, I've thought up the ending to my book." He turned around. "And he lived happily ever after, to the end of his days."

They embraced, and Bilbo walked away, but not before I stood and embraced the hobbit myself. He told me to take care of Frodo, as he had done in the past. Gandalf walked back inside, and I saw no more of him. The party was clearing away below, and I knew Frodo would be there until the last, doing his best to work. I decided I might as well help. I needed no sleep, and figured Frodo and Sam would be sufficiently tired sending everyone home.

By the time I wandered down to the party again, Frodo had let most of the people out. As usual, Rosie was gathering the flowers and dismissing Pippin and Merry from their duties at the dishes; they thanked her with flourishing bows. Sam avoided her gaze, trying to pick up what he could without going near her. Apparently things during the dance had gone over too well for Sam to be comfortable; I smiled grimly. Only I could wish for such luck. The irony was that we would have traded places. He wanted Rosie to reach out, I supposed . . . and I wanted Frodo to be romantically accepting.

Soon Sam had cleared every little thing external of a twenty-foot radius surrounding Rosie. I rolled my eyes and dragged him as close as I dared.

"Sam would like to join you, if it isn't too much trouble," I said deliberately. I felt Sam tense, more deeply than before if it were possible.

Rosie smiled. "Of course." She gestured for Sam to join her, and I had to push him into place. I tried to ignore the silence between them, knowing Rosie was patient and Sam was entrenched in his fear.

Such fear I understood even better than usual when Frodo came up behind me and began to help me reach almost higher than I could and untangle the lights from tree boughs.

"Did you enjoy yourself?" I asked finally.

His voice over my shoulder was enough to make me lurch a little. "Very much. Although sometimes I worry about Bilbo and his jokes. Something's going wrong."

I wanted to tell him, but his shoulder to my shoulder just then yanked the words back into my throat. I froze everywhere.

"Sev?"

I shook myself. "Nothing. I'm all right." I paused. Turning around, his eyes were right there. Icy blue, inches away. His face, the face I'd studied for so long; stretched in a smile, narrowed in concern, accented in good humor. His lips, too . . . just right there.

Until I broke away, he didn't seem to notice I'd been watching. That concerned me; only the insane and blind wouldn't realize. Frodo was not dim, in fact a very bright hobbit. He had to know.

I hustled to get a few things done, but Sam had—in a fit of red face—done them all, once he and Rosie had finished the mugs. Rosie turned and smiled at me, then nodded at Sam. I nodded in return, and Rosie sighed lightly.

"I must be back home. Good night, Frodo, Seville, Sam."

Sam flinched at the mention of his name. Frodo and I both said goodbye to Rosie, all the while looking at Sam for his response.

He stammered/muttered a parting word as well.

A laugh on her tongue, Rosie turned and exited through the gate. Sam muttered a parting to us also, then began shuffling home.

Being there with Frodo was more difficult than the situation, us being friends, should have warranted. I tried to keep a casual, light air, and with a sigh flopped onto my back on the ground. Frodo laughed, and the tension eased; I laughed, too.

Well, the tension was broken in my own mind until he laid against the ground next to me, also on his back. I froze again, then internally slapped myself. He meant only to spend some time with a friend, not a special girl.

"You're 33, Frodo," I said.

He nodded. I felt his hair on my head, rustling the grass as well.

"Are you frightened?"

Frodo shook his head. "Not really. There's nothing much to be afraid of in the Shire, Sev, even turning 33." He chuckled. "I guess Bilbo's something to be afraid of."

"And Gandalf."

"And poor Sam; let's hope he doesn't kill us all once we've made him blush so much."

We broke out laughing at that. My sides hurt after a minute, and I had to slow to a halt. That attempt, however, was so ironic and hilarious that we both started laughing again.

"Frodo," I gasped, "I can't be laughing any more . . ." He kept laughing on purpose, I know he did. I shoved my hand over his eyes in a gesture of humor, but apparently neither of us took it that way. I paused, and he halted as well. I lowered my hand, but as I did so, he lifted his fingers to haltingly brush against it.

He was tired, wasn't thinking.

Maybe being 33 has changed his mind.

I didn't dare believe it. But the way he looked at my hand, I half thought I was right. I shook it off.

"Crazeball," I muttered, ruffling his hair before I stood. It wasn't soft for being hair, but admittedly my psyche was convinced of who it belonged to, and I wouldn't get over that easily.

Frodo laughed again a little. I broke into a small chuckle before the weight of our friendship set in. I shook my head.

"I'll be bleeding from the stomach in the morning if I laugh anymore," I admitted, doing my best not to chuckle. It wasn't difficult. Frodo sighed and followed me as I walked back to my log.

As I said good night and burrowed under my log, Frodo cocked his head.

"This is where you sleep?"

I glanced up at him and nodded. "How did you not know this?" I asked in mock surprise.

Frodo lifted an eyebrow. "You never exactly say where you go after sunset. You never ran around with us . . ."

"For a good reason."

He grinned, then glanced around the inside of my under-log hole. His face was, again, right there. Just an inch and my lips would brush his cheek.

No!

No.

No.

Can't do it.

No.

It took a lot of internal convincing to stay right there and not move. He pulled back out after what seemed like an eternity and laid his chin on the bank above my hole.

"We have couches at Bag End that would be far more comfortable than this, if you wanted to come up."

My eyes widened. I'd never stayed inside Bag End, but had often glanced in. A real hobbit hole . . . a comfortable, food-packed, Frodo and Bilbo hobbit hole. Well, not Bilbo anymore, but-

Bilbo wouldn't be there. I couldn't stay at Bag End. But Gandalf would be there, at least.

So I conceded.

Frodo gave me a hand out. There was that pause again, when I accepted it. But there it was gone, although he kept my hand, and we raced up the hill. Admittedly, he was much faster than myself, but it helped that he was also strong enough to help me keep up.

Once we got back to the hole, I decided to tell Frodo Bilbo had left. I opened my mouth to tell Frodo, but he released my hand and opened the door.

"Bilbo!" he called, but then stopped and bent over. He picked something off the ground. I peered at it; it was Bilbo's ring.

I staggered with the weight of magical antagonism it seemed to carry. It stabbed at my heart again and again. Nothing good could come of this. I lay gasping on the front step for a moment before regaining the strength to stand and walk inside.

Frodo was standing next to Gandalf, who had taken a seat in front of the fireplace and was smoking lightly. Frodo held out the ring, and I came in in time to hear Gandalf confirm that.

"He's left you Bag End," Gandalf said, pulling an envelope from the mantle and holding it out to Frodo. Once Frodo had slipped the ring inside, Gandalf immediately sealed the envelope and put it back in its place on the mantle.

A moment later, Gandalf was bustling about, gathering his things. "I must go now," he said urgently.

Frodo and I asked why almost simultaneously.

"You've only just arrived!" Frodo protested.

Gandalf seemed mildly surprised to see me in the doorway, but said nothing more before turning back to Frodo. "I have questions, questions that need answering." He grabbed his hat and turned to depart.

"I don't understand," Frodo said finally.

Gandalf paused, then turned around. "Neither do I."

Hence questions that needed answering, I decided. I wondered if Gandalf needed to be so cryptic, though. Certainly if anything had come up at Bag End he would at least tell Frodo. Perhaps my presence disturbed his ability to reveal information, and I began to back away.

Gandalf put a hand on Frodo's shoulder. "Keep it secret. Keep it safe."

Evidently the ring was as dangerous as I had predicted. Gandalf shut the door behind him, then grabbed both of my shoulders before I could go anywhere.

"Guard him, Seville." Gandalf shook my shoulders. "Don't let him out of your sight, and don't let him use that ring." He paused. "Keep him safe."

An overwhelming, wistful pride overtook me. I wasn't sure why; part of me said I felt the impact, that need to keep Frodo safe and happy. I'd felt it, and finally someone else recognized that Frodo was important, that he needed protecting.

"Yes, sir," I said.

Gandalf patted my shoulder, then turned and was gone, down the path and back to his horse.

I glanced back inside Bag End. Frodo was staring at the envelope, hands in his pockets. My hackles rose, hoping he wasn't feeling the initiative to put it on.

I debated going home, but knew Gandalf wanted Frodo safe. I glanced around the front lawn. No less comfortable than under my log. It would be perfect out here.

Frodo slipped out of the door a few minutes later. I had nestled in the grass, counting and naming the stars directly above Bag End. One of them I named Willation, another Vanessella, and a third (a particularly ugly star, glimmering randomly and probably about to die) I named Alshain. The shooting star I saw I called Bilbo, always bouncing in adventures from one place to another, fickle and full of wishes.

"Sev?"

I turned and saw Frodo on the walk.

"You know, the point of coming up here was to use one of the couches," he said.

I nodded. "But Gandalf is gone. I cannot come in."

He shrugged. "All right. But at least take one." With that, he dragged the head of one out the front door of Bag End. He started to pull it down the walk, but I lifted the back end and stopped him.

"I said I cannot come in, but if it's all the same to you, sleeping on the lawn would be nice," I said.

Frodo grinned initially. "I suppose that should be all right."

Somehow I wasn't expecting him to peck me on the forehead with a wish of a good night. He didn't look back at me when he went inside, so I wondered if he had done the same for Bilbo. Regardless of the purpose, it caught me off guard. Time froze for me, and yet somehow the Shire continued to function properly.

I basically collapsed onto the couch. After hyperventilating for a short moment, I realized it had to have been habit. Frodo had no other reason to do it.

I glanced inside. Frodo no longer wore his vest, just the traditional white shirt and brown breeches characteristic of the male hobbits. He was pacing the living room, sipping tea from a mug and staring into the fire, then up at the ring on the mantle, then back at the fire. After a pause, he lifted the envelope.

I froze, then leaped up and raced to the window. To my relief, he did not open the envelope, rather knelt on the floor in front of a trunk, set his mug aside, and opened the chest. He buried the envelope on the bottom. Once he had locked the chest again, I was content to lay back down on the couch.

A sweet bluebird fluttered overhead and landed on the end of my couch. A wounded one with a broken leg landed next to it, but the healthy one took no notice, just caressed the wounded with its beak.

The candles flickered off in Bag End.

The wind whispered against my ear.

And the night was still.


	4. Adventure for us all

**It'll get interesting eventually. Well . . . more interesting eventually. Then again, romance is what I love to read and write all the time, so the action isn't as important to me. But here's the catalyst scene for all that transpires, really.**

If I thought Frodo and I were good friends before, living with only a home wall between us tied us even closer. The moment I woke up, Frodo was sitting out on the lawn, a tray piled with biscuits, tea, chocolates, and apples on his lap.

I was ravenous, and mockingly crouched, waggling my shoulders and preparing to pounce on him, possibly fight, for the food.

He laughed and set it down. I sprang from the couch, throwing a biscuit whole in my mouth. Knowing my only advantage for attraction was to make him laugh, I smacked it around in my mouth before swallowing. And it worked; we both cracked up.

Most of the days were spent eating, reading, trying to coax Sam into courting Rosie, pranking Merry and Pippin (just a little bit, not dangerously), and spending nights in the Green Dragon. That, of course, was where the fun became more distant, as did Frodo. He would drink and dance with Merry and Pippin, and I worked with Rosie.

She watched Sam when she wasn't busy. She was so wistful, and a little forlorn.

"What do you think of him?" I asked her once.

She'd been washing out a mug that she'd rubbed out eight times. "What?"

"Sam. What do you think?" I repeated, nodding at Sam. He was having a hard time not staring at her, too.

She grinned. "He's very sweet, and very good with growing things."

I nodded encouragingly. "And . . .? Why haven't you moved to befriend him more?"

She shook her head. Merry and Pippin were crowing to the rafters and teetering about on the table, until Merry lost his balance and dragged Pippin with him, right on top of Frodo. They laughed and cackled, brushing themselves off. We laughed too . . . but I faltered when Frodo caught my gaze, his grin softening. Then I rolled my eyes and turned back to Rosie.

Rosie turned her gaze from a drunk Pippin to Sam. "He's too shy, and he's still a boy. He's not a man yet."

"How else would you test his colors?" I asked. "He's a sweet man, as you've pointed out!"

She sighed. "He's too young in his heart, Seville. He has things to learn."

I left it at that; I had no idea what she was talking about, but assumed that, if she knew and liked him enough to anticipate his every arrival in the Green Dragon, I would have to trust she at least presumed where Sam could go and what he could be . . . and whether or not he was a man.

"He's no less of a man than the rest of the hobbits, probably almost more," I admitted.

She shook her head. "I could never imagine being with a regular hobbit."

"But you flirt with them-,"

"I accept their words," Rosie said, "but I love none of them. Sam is more, but there is something that troubles him, something I know is coming. How it will, I don't know."

I still didn't entirely know what she was talking about, and I was pretty sure she didn't entirely understand her own words as much as what was going on in her head.

Three weeks later, Sam was watching her again. I just looked between the two of them; her bright smile, his sheepish, attentive eyes. I shook my head. Maybe Sam was too shy for her.

My thoughts turned to Frodo just then when I heard him singing. I looked up. Pippin and Merry were dancing on a table (as they were wont to do), and Frodo spun around them, feet actually on the floor. I listened, then turned back to my work when they all broke out in triumphant, drunken cackles.

"War's brewin'!" one of the elder hobbits insisted. Sam was watching Rosie again, but just then swallowed and turned away.

Gaffer shook his head, smoking his pipe. "It's none of our business what goes on beyond our borders," he responded. "You're beginning to sound like that old Bilbo Baggins; cracked, he was!"

"Young Mr. Frodo, here-he's crackin'!"

Frodo stared, jocosely wounded. "And I'm proud of it! Cheers, Gaffer!"

I wondered at that, and how I liked him for it.

The old hobbit's next words troubled me: "Don't go stickin' your nose into trouble, and no trouble will come to you!" Frodo nodded before he buried his nose in his mug, and I stifled a laugh. Oh, he'd stick his nose in to trouble, I was sure of it.

Rosie and I were standing at the door as the hobbits departed, staggering, for the night. Pippin waggled his eyebrows at me as he passed, and I nodded with a bright smile as I'd seen Rosie do. Merry exhaled deeply and simply inclined his head.

Frodo and Sam came some time after. My heart punched against my chest, and I snapped for it to quiet. I didn't have time for this. Frodo smiled at me and said good night to Rosie. She replied, although her reply was partially directed at Sam.

Nonner was directly after them, and he dropped to one knee, swaggering. "Good night, sweet maiden of the golden ale!" Rosie smiled and thanked him.

I heard Sam ahead of us mutter something under his breath. "Watch who you're sweet-talking." I barely kept from laughing; poor Samwise.

Then I heard Frodo: "Don't worry, Sam. Rosie knows a nitwit when she sees one."

I chuckled. Nonner was gone, and I felt like I could get away with it then; _you've got that right, Frodo_.

Sam's reply was hopeless. "Does she?"

Poor, dear Sam. I pitied him deeply. There was something Rosie wanted, but Sam couldn't possibly know. I wondered if that was the case with Frodo . . .

"No attraction," I convinced myself. He showed few signs. We were friends. I liked him, I knew that much, but I wouldn't convince myself of his opinions in my favor. I knew girls that liked Frodo probably as much as I did, and he showed no attraction to any. In fact, he had confided in me that it sometimes confused him; he didn't know how to react to the attention. Not that he would care.

I had been muttering to myself and kicking pebbles ahead of me. But once I reached the gate to Bag End, the nicker of a horse snapped me out of my paralysis. My eyes shot to a saddled mare seven yards away.

"No," I moaned, racing up the trail. "No, no, no . . ." I prayed no one was here to harm Frodo; the horse was not a hobbit horse. I didn't want anyone coercing him, harming him, anything. I knocked as lightly on the door as I dared. My hands were pricking with moisture, and I was trying to temper my breathing.

But I heard Frodo's voice inviting me in. As I hastily twisted the center knob, I heard Gandalf scolding him for admitting a visitor. I paused, the door half open.

"Seville?"

I nodded, mildly put out that Gandalf did not want to see me. I saw Gandalf gesturing, and I began to back out.

"Come in, girl. Tell me things have been all right."

I paused, then entered. Frodo's brows were knit together, and a pot of tea was set to the side. Bilbo's ring lay on the table, and Frodo was staring intently at it. He looked afraid.

I wanted to run to him and make sure he was okay; his usually smiling face was worn down. I cocked my head, progressing slowly.

"Sev."

Glancing up at Gandalf, I realized he was expecting something from me. I remembered he had asked for a report, and I dropped my voice.

"Things have been all right with us, Gandalf," I said, eyeing Frodo. "Leastwise, from what I understand." I then glanced at the ring when Frodo turned to meet my eyes. "But I fear things have not been all right with you."

Gandalf nodded gravely. "You have heard of the One Ring?"

I nodded: "One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them. One Ring to bring them all and in the-." Then my eyes widened. I stared at Bilbo's ring.

"No," I whispered. Frodo was in more danger than I'd thought. I wanted to snatch the Ring, send it to Willation with a seething letter, and have him acidically destroy it atom by atom. "No!" I hissed and growled at it, springing away. Frodo eyed me carefully, quickly looking back at the Ring.

Gandalf nodded again, then turned back to Frodo, explaining the history of the Ring, and how it begged to get back to its master. Apparently the Dark Lord Sauron had but to get his hands on the Ring and all of Middle Earth would be overtaken.

Frodo leaped up and grabbed the Ring from before me. "Then we hide it! We'll put it away." He walked briskly into the living room, searching for an ample location. I hung my head. Frodo couldn't hide it sufficiently, I knew; Sauron was desperate to find it, and he had a plethora of servants at his command. Willation had drilled the risks of Middle Earth to me . . . all of them. Well, he missed telling me that other hobbits could be subjected to those dangers, particularly hobbits I'd grown to care for.

Frodo was saying, "We never speak of it again! No one knows it's here, do they?" Then he paused. Gandalf had followed him, but remained silent. My heart caught when Frodo's face darkened with helpless dread. "Do they, Gandalf?"

Gandalf inhaled darkly. "There was one other that knew about the Ring."

 _Gollum!_ I hadn't known he knew.

"I searched everywhere for the creature Gollum, but the enemy found him first. I don't know how or for how long they tortured him, but amidst the babbles and screams, they heard two words."

Frodo gaped. My eyebrows narrowed.

"Shire," we said in unison. "Baggins!" Frodo was more terrified; I wanted to strangle Gollum, quickly and painfully. He'd put Frodo into enough trouble as it was. The only downside: even if I killed Gollum, my bloodstream would heal his death immediately.

Frodo held out the Ring to Gandalf, and insisted he take it. Gandalf denied him, and I jumped to Frodo's defense.

"Gandalf! For Zincarna's sake, he's a hobbit! The Ring was not meant to-!"

"Do not tempt me, either of you!" Gandalf's voice thundered with a sense of growing darkness. Frodo and I shrank away; I grabbed his arm, initially believing somewhere in my subconscious that Gandalf was threatening him. "I would bear this Ring with good intentions, but through me, it would be capable of great evil. You must accept it, Frodo."

Frodo swallowed. My entire being shook. I felt the winds of change and knew something was trying to tear Frodo apart.

My heart chilled when he said: "What must I do?"

Gandalf began to issue instructions in a storm while Frodo hurriedly prepared to depart. I needed nothing, and so only accepted a walking stick and a cloak from Frodo. Gandalf told him we needed to travel quickly, and that we would meet him at the Prancing Pony in Bree.

After this flurry of preparation, we all paused. The weight of the Ring sank in. But I scolded myself for being paranoid; we were only going to Bree. Not that it would be easy, but Bree would not change the course of poor Frodo's life, even if he did carry the Ring the whole way.

Gandalf nodded his head to Frodo. I sensed an air of respect there, which surprised me.

"You are a brave hobbit, Frodo Baggins," Gandalf said. "I wish you luck." Then he and Frodo smiled. "You can spend all the time in the world with hobbits, learn everything there is to know about them . . . and yet they still surprise you."

We took it in for a moment; the adventure, the thrill of saving the world. Frodo was excited, and I started to feel excited, too. When a rustle sounded outside, however, I was still paranoid enough to draw my knife and advance toward Frodo.

"Get down," Gandalf hissed. Frodo dropped to the floor. I watched cautiously as Gandalf tiptoed to the door, keeping out of range of the window's sight. He slowly lifted his staff, and with a great _thwack_ cracked it on the head of some creature out there.

"Ow!"

I stiffened and lowered my knife. Gandalf reached outside and yanked a struggling, small form inside, throwing him onto the table.

"Samwise Gamgee, have you been eavesdropping?!" Gandalf shouted.

Sam was shaking. "N-no, I ain't been dropping no eaves, sir, honest! I was just trimming the grass under the window there!"

"A little late to be gardening the verge, don't you think?" Gandalf replied.

Frodo stood, and I relaxed.

"What have you heard? Speak!"

Sam stuttered. "N-nothing important, just something about a Dark Lord and a Ring, and something about the end of the world. Don't be angry, Mr. Gandalf! And don't turn me into anything . . . unnatural . . ."

"Oh, no," Gandalf said, glancing up at Frodo, who smiled back. "I've thought of a better use for you."

 _And why not take Sam?_ I thought. Just one more pair of eyes to make sure nothing happened to Frodo.


	5. New companions and enemies

**So I'm rushing this uploading . . . shoving stuff out of the way to upload material. It'll all be up eventually. :)**

"Hurry, Samwise Gamgee! You must keep up."

We set out before dawn the next morning. Gandalf had brought a horse, which he insisted he didn't need to ride for the first while, and he led it at the head. Frodo walked by the shoulders, and Sam was trailing behind with his pots and pans clanking against each other. I had wished to walk, seeing as I would need all my practice with feet (I didn't have as big or sturdy feet as the hobbits), but the moment Sam and Frodo simultaneously moved to put me on the horse, I complied.

After riding for probably thirty minutes, I determined Gandalf would be leaving soon, and so dismounted. Gandalf turned back to me.

"I suppose this is a good a place as any," he mused, turning to Frodo. "Is it safe?" he muttered.

Frodo felt about in his pocket and nodded at Gandalf. I flinched at the movement; the Ring spurned a painful twisting in my heart, as though it held so much toxin of a sort that it irked me to touch it, to suck it dry and be powerful from it. I feared for Frodo.

The wizard warned him intensely not to put it on.

Gandalf turned to Sam and me. I didn't know what he wanted from Sam, but I nodded my assurance in affirmation of my promise. Then I wished I had at least said parting words, for then, without much more than a nod, Gandalf had spurred the horse and was off.

His horse sprang into the woods at a gallop, leaving the three of us, small and insignificant in a forest of remarkably tall . . . well, everything else.

They exchanged a few words, but I did not hear them. Suddenly my head filled with a familiar buzzing, and seeming claws scratched and harrowed at my heart and hands. It was all I could do to keep from falling over, or crying out. Tears pricking my eyes from initial pain, I swallowed it back. They began to set out.

There was no end to the walking. The talking, yes, we were soon full on that, but the Shire seemed to stretch forever. We crossed through much forest, over some waterfalls, through fields, and across plains. Homes were few, which somehow made me feel at home. I loved it.

Finally, though, we reached a wheat field marked by a scarecrow. We were walking single-file, with me in the front (I almost insisted to keep an eye out for danger or anything), when I heard Sam suddenly behind me.

"This is it."

Frodo and I turned.

"This is what?" Frodo asked, to which Sam retreated just a little.

"If I take one more step, I'll be the farthest away from home I've ever been."

Now I saw what Rosie was talking about, even if I couldn't quite put it into words.

Frodo smiled kindly, then put his arm around Sam, gesturing onward. "Come, Sam," he said. Then he turned to us both. "Remember what Bilbo used to say: 'It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. If you don't keep your feet, there's no telling where you might be swept off to." I didn't hear Bilbo in him; I just heard him. I knew just what he meant, too. Just by going after Sheratan, I'd ended up here, never to go back. My heart pained again at that . . . but somehow I was happier with Frodo.

That disturbed me a little. Only a little.

I glanced back at him. He seemed oblivious to the Ring for the present. But I could feel it still there. It weighed on me hard, harder than I would have thought possible. I wrenched my gaze away and kept walking.

As hobbits do, we stopped regularly to eat. I would have thought we might have packed something hard and road-esque, as Willation would have done on a travel, but I was surprised when Sam revealed packages of sausage and bacon. Then I realized the point behind the pans; hobbits loved as much comfort as possible.

While Sam began stirring sizzling meat over a small fire, Frodo climbed into the fork of a tree to read. I shimmied up behind him and read hungrily over his shoulder.

The story reached the best part, where the timid, now knight-like squire Thearus asked the fair maiden to marry him. She couldn't accept yet, because she never thought of getting married and didn't have an answer by the time the scheming villain burst through the window and carried her away. The moment I read that last event, Frodo closed the book on his lap and thoughtfully began smoking.

"Devilish," I said grumpily, sliding from the tree.

Surprised, Frodo glanced behind him, then down at me at the bottom of the tree. He grinned.

"What, the book or the smoking?"

I pointed at him. "You. For not reading and for smoking."

Frodo's smile deepened, and I couldn't help but grin as well. Much to my relief he set the pipe aside. I was paranoid about that; Willation told me you might as well live in a burning house as smoke, and I didn't approve of the hobbits doing it. But I wouldn't try to stop them.

"You would like to finish the story?" he said nonchalantly.

I gawked. "Of course! The blasted villain just swept Mallia out the window! How do you stop there?"

Frodo paused, then turned to me.

"You know when you told me you would stop reading because the novel reflected, however askewedly, something in your own life?"

I nodded slowly. How could a villain sweeping away an indecisive maiden have anything at all to do with Frodo? Perhaps the Ring sweeping away his livelihood? I suppose it could have been askew somehow.

He settled back into the tree. "This one is fairly deep, and takes much contemplation."

I shuffled closer to him and laid my hands on the tree, staring up at him with somewhat satirically huge eyes. "Must be exciting! What is it?" I said, my voice little more than a whisper.

He turned to me, grinning hugely. Then his grin faltered a little.

"You would find it less exciting and more a laughing matter."

I blew a raspberry to the side. "Troneterra, no!" I lifted my right hand. "I swear at all costs not to laugh, sputter, cough, or giggle at Frodo's current novel dilemma." I lowered my hand. "Come now, man, what is it?"

He laughed and shook his head, opening his mouth to speak. Then it closed, and he turned, sitting straight up.

"Sev! Sam!" he said sharply. We both perked up and listened.

"Wood elves," Frodo and I said simultaneously.

Over-excited now, all three of us bounded over logs, around trees, and through brush until we could see a flow of tall, lovely men and women dressed in white and riding white horses. They seemed to be glowing. We ducked behind a fallen tree to watch.

They were singing . . . almost a mournful song.

"They're going to the harbor beyond the White Towers. The Grey Havens," Frodo said wistfully. His expression grew solemn; I turned away.

"They're leaving Middle Earth!" Sam whispered.

"Never to return," I added. My heart froze. I didn't understand; something about it seemed wrong. A whole race of perfectly beautiful people that were giving up their lives and abandoning home because the world looked bleak. I glanced at the ground, shamed and broken. If everyone gave up when the world looked bleak . . . evil would always win.

I felt Willation then. My life had always been bleak, and I didn't give up, even though there wasn't hope for anything in my life. I could feel that ambivalence, that dark need to give up, threading my life in ways I didn't know how I'd avoided. I narrowed my eyes. Giving up was not an option, not for me. For them, perhaps, but I would do everything I could to turn that around.

Frodo subconsciously laid a hand over my tensed one.

"I don't know why," Sam said, "it makes me so sad."

Because they were giving up. They had a choice and they were taking the easy, deathly one, losing the opportunity to go somewhere for the painless, rewardless route, even though they'd been through so much.

We were soon back on the road. The rest of the day was relatively uneventful, externally. Inside I was rolling over and over, wondering if the pain was worth living for. My spurts of it had become more regular. Usually they weren't noticeable . . . but now it was difficult. I could raise a hybrid from the dead. Frodo and Sam had each other; I had no one. I had to convince myself that giving up was not the best option. I was hesitant to believe it.

I was restless in sleeping . . . or so I thought. I was about to drift off when I heard Sam.

"Anywhere I lay, there's a great, dirty root sticking into my back," he moaned, tossing over the tree he had laid beneath.

Frodo inhaled deeply. He loved sleep, I knew, enough to stick with it despite circumstances. "Just close your eyes . . . and imagine you're back in your own bed . . . with a nice, soft mattress . . . and a lovely feather pillow." I sank into his description; I would have liked one.

Sam was quiet, and I alm;ost thought he was asleep. But when I turned over to watch, from my vantage point slightly above them, he was talking again.

"It's not working, Mister Frodo. I'll never get any sleep out here."

Frodo's smile was sweet and tired. "Me neither, Sam." I stifled a laugh and wished/whispered him a good night.

By all appearances, I had convinced them I was asleep before they had started eating earlier that evening, but Frodo glanced up at me with tired, bright eyes and grinned before I flopped back over. I couldn't watch him; it was painful enough to see him bearing the Ring, much less without help. I heard Sam reach into the cold pan and stuff a strip of bacon in his mouth. I smiled, too.

The next morning we simply set out, and were nearing the edge of the Shire. I was almost glad to be out of the Shire; I needed something to keep my thoughts off of Frodo. Then I realized, if I'd wanted to keep my mind off of Frodo, I should have left the Shire the day I met him. But I loved the idea of actual adventure. I gathered then that Frodo would be in danger as well. As long as I kept him hidden . . .

We were walking through Farmer Maggot's cornfield when I realized Sam was gone. I heard: "Mr. Frodo?! Sev? Mr. Frodo?! Frodo!" He was only around the corner, and Frodo and I turned back to find him.

"It's all right, Sam," I said, and gave a glance: Frodo's fine.

"I thought I'd lost you," Sam said.

Frodo cocked his head. "What do you mean?"

Sam sighed in relief. "It's just something Gandalf said."

"What did he say?" Frodo asked cautiously. Somehow I wondered if Frodo wanted to be looked out for by two desperate, doting friends. I retained a hesitant mental note to back off, which I physically did. Frodo shot me a look, but I didn't respond.

"He said, 'Don't you lose him, Samwise Gamgee.' And I don't mean to."

"Sam, we're still in the Shire! What could possibly happen?" Frodo said.

Just then, a flash of movement burst out from the cornfield next to me and toppled with Frodo beneath it. Another bowled me over.

"Frodo!" cried Pippin. He studied Frodo's face from his vantage point right above him, probably just making sure he had the details right. "Merry, it's Frodo Baggins!"

Merry, who wasn't even trying to get up, grinned. "Hello, Frodo," he said. Irked at having a man on top of me, I threw him off immediately and stood. Sam yanked Pippin off of Frodo, and I offered a hand, pulling Frodo to his feet. I didn't let go, and neither did he. Then both of us seemed to become conscious of the scenario and released. I convinced myself it was just like a handshake, that he hadn't noticed too much, and that I should stop thinking right there.

"What is the meaning of this?" Frodo asked dangerously.

"Hold this, will you?" Merry asked, thrusting a pile of vegetables to Sam.

"You've been into-!" I started.

"-Farmer Maggot's crop!" Sam finished.

Pippin nodded proudly, also bearing a pile of food. "Of course! We do it all the-,"

Then barking and shouts ensued behind us. I glanced up and saw a long hoe. Pippin tore off into the cornfield. I grabbed Frodo's hand and raced after him, followed by Merry and Sam.

"I don't know what's with him-it's just a few carrots!" Merry cried.

"And some cabbages!" Pippin called over my head, trying to run and face Merry at the same time. He tripped often enough. "And the bag of potatoes we got you last week; and some mushrooms the week before!"

I rolled my eyes sardonically. _Hobbits_. _Male_ hobbits, specifically.

"Yes, Pippin! My point is, he's clearly overreacting!"

Then Pippin suddenly stopped running. Frodo and I stopped just short of him, right in front of a cliff edge. Merry slammed into Pippin's back, and Sam came up last, unaware why we all had stopped. With that momentum, we rolled, down the hill. I released Frodo and pulled into a ball, rolling while they went down in heaps. Despite that, however, when they all landed in a pile, I smacked into the back of them. Unrolling, my head came right next to Frodo's.

"Whoo! That was close," Pippin said cheerfully. Merry rolled off his back next to me. "I think I've broken something . . .!" He produced a thick carrot snapped in half. I cut off a laugh when he groaned sadly.

Sam was on the bottom, and when he pulled out, Frodo rolled off and I fell back until my head landed on his shoulder. My face turned red and I squirmed off into a kneeling position. He didn't seem to care.

"Trust a Brandybuck and a Took," Sam muttered, brushing himself off.

Merry did so as well. "That was just a detour . . . a shortcut!"

"Shortcut to what?" Sam said doubtfully.

Pippin gasped loudly. "Mushrooms!" he cried.

Immediately the three hobbits were scrambling to their feet, Pippin and Merry using Sam as physical leverage to get up. They raced to the mushrooms, piling them in sacks.

I turned my attention to Frodo. He paused, glancing down the road. I did as well, and my heart began to twist and grind again. I choked and collapsed, dizziness clouding my head.

I was breathing hard.

"I think we should get off the road," Frodo said, turning to the other hobbits. I agreed internally, and struggled to get to my feet. I shook, and the world tossed around me. The others ignored him soundly.

Then Frodo peered back into the distance. I did as well, and a shadow seemed to hiss and shriek through the trees. Space bent in a dying warning, and the leaves rustled with an unnaturally strong wind.

"Get off the road!" Frodo cried. He and I dove under a tree root, and the other three hobbits soon followed, excited about their new find. All three reached for the bag simultaneously.

Then I heard the labored breathing of a powerful horse. I stiffened; Frodo froze beside me. I heard the heavy crunch of metal. I glanced up through the tree root, frightened by what I would see. The horse was vantablack, hooves dripping with some dark liquid. Next to it was a pair of sharp, ridged feet with armor.

Hands of matching armor crunched down on the tree root. Frodo eyed them warily, and his face was growing slightly white.

The pain overtook me again, and I slumped to the ground, jostling a little with every lurch of my core. Then, in the blurry rush of my vision, I noticed Frodo's eyes rolled back. He was trying to put on the Ring.

 _No!_ I cried to myself. I put a hand on his wrist, hoping I could help, and he let go suddenly, slipping the Ring quickly back into his pocket. The hooded warrior above us gave a loud, epiphanic hiss.

A crunch to the distant left startled me, and the warrior shrieked, remounting his horse and bounding away.

I leaped from place and dragged Frodo out from under the root. We began running, running until we were as far away from the road as possible. When we stopped for breath, Merry, frightened, turned to Frodo.

"What was that?" Merry demanded.

The shriek sounded again before Frodo could answer, although I was fairly sure he only half knew what it was. Soon night was falling, and the black rider knew where we were. When we had nearly dashed out of sight of it, Merry stopped Frodo.

"I think it's looking for something," Merry said, stepping toward Frodo. I gripped Frodo's arm as Merry neared; he looked accusatory. "Or someone."

I growled lightly. Frodo laid a hand over mine and told Merry he, Sam, and I needed to get to Bree. Merry nodded.

Then the rider shrieked again.

We began running. When I glanced behind us, I realized there were two of them, three . . . no, four, all on swift, angry horses.

"We're almost to the Brandywine!" Merry cried, running faster. I saw the dock ahead of us, where a small raft was moored. We were saved! I kept Frodo in front of me, although he was tiring and tripping periodically. I lifted him back to his feet, pressing onward.

Pippin and Merry leaped onto the raft first, followed by Sam. I heard a neigh, too close by. Feet pounding on the earth, I turned to see a black rider nigh upon us. I wrapped my arm around Frodo's shoulders and pushed with all I had.

He went springing forward a pair of yards, then rolled onto the vanishing raft. I followed suit, and while both of us were too exhausted to be nimble, no one fell off.

The rider shrieked behind us, as did all three of its companions. The horses were tossing and rearing, then finally turned.

"How many miles to the Brandywine bridge?" I asked Merry.

"22," he responded.

I nodded assuredly, then glanced down at Frodo. He was shivering. The pains returned. The Ring was biding its time.

I sat down next to him and put a hand on his shoulder. He laid his head on it. His hair was the best feeling in the world just then, and the slowing beat of his heart through channels of life in his head . . . all were intact and safe. For now. I could ask for nothing more.


	6. The cold before the ice

After alternating rowing (I made sure Frodo was asleep when he was responsible for rowing, and I took his shift), we made it to Bree within two or three hours. I fell asleep at times as well, but asked if Frodo had done any work while I was asleep. Pippin reassured me no harm had been done, although he said it with a snicker, so I wasn't sure.

Once we docked the raft again near Bree, it had begun to rain. We all put our hoods up and raced to the city wall.

Frodo knocked on the front door, and I put a hand on my dagger. A sheet of wood creaked open, revealing an elderly man with a lantern. He peered into the darkness.

"Who goes there?" he asked in a strong accent.

"We are hobbits of the Shire," Frodo said loudly, and the man finally looked down. "We seek refuge at the inn of the Prancing Pony."

"Queer to have five hobbits out of the Shire at a time like this," he mused. "What's your business in Bree?"

"Our business is our own," Frodo insisted. "I am Mr. Underhill."

Then I remembered another of Gandalf's instructions. "You will have to leave the name Baggins behind you." He had told him to go by Underhill, which I partially understood.

"All right, all right, didn't mean to offend ye, little master," the man said. "Just strange folk been goin' about." He closed the smaller peek-door and opened the gate. We strode inside. It was easy to find the Prancing Pony; the sign bore such a beast in and of itself, although we had to jostle through some unfriendly, freakishly tall people. Whenever one shoved Frodo out of the way, I hissed at him.

The inn was warm and dry relative to the outdoors, but more disturbing by far. The company did not seem pleasant . . . or hobbit-esque in the slightest. I shivered and stayed as close to the door as possible while Frodo discussed arrangements with Mr. Butterbur at the counter.

"Gandalf? Oh, yeah, older fellow, long, grey beard, pointy hat!" Frodo nodded affirmatively, but Butterbur's face narrowed. "I haven't seen him here in six months," he admitted.

We were all shocked at that. Frodo thanked him and the hobbits huddled. Pippin yanked me into the group and squished me up beside him . . . next to Frodo. They linked their arms around my back absentmindedly. I'm not sure Pippin was absentminded; he winked at me.

"What do we do now?" Merry was saying worriedly.

They all decided to get a drink. I abandoned the idea, accepting water alone, but sat with them at the huge table anyway. With Sam on the bench with Frodo and I, the latter of us were somewhat compacted together. I scarcely knew what to do but keep an eye out for unfriendly eyes, of which there were many.

Merry zipped back to the bar, even after they got their ale. I kept my eyes peeled, in all directions except my right. Frodo looked darkly perplexed, disturbed by something, probably Gandalf's disappearance.

As though to affirm that, he turned to me. "He'll be here, Sev. He has to come."

Merry came instead, moaning and licking his lips delightedly. He set down a monstrous, black mug, foaming at the lip of it. He set it down, staring at it hungrily.

Pippin did, too. "What is that?" he asked in awe.

"Is my friend," Merry said, tearing his eyes away for only a blinking moment. "It's a pint!"

"It comes in pints?" Pippin gawked. Then he set his sights on the bar. "I'm getting one."

He picked up his forgotten smaller mug and raced for the bar. Sam tried to catch him on the way over. "You've had half a one already!" he cried.

"He has to come, Sev," Frodo muttered. I put a hand to his back, rubbing a little. The poor thing needed to relax a bit; everything would be all right.

Sam didn't help. He tapped Frodo's shoulder and nodded to the corner. "That fellow's been nothing but staring at you since we arrived," he said, and Frodo and I turned to look. It was a scruffily bearded man in a dark cloak, smoking a simmering pipe. I already distrusted the look of him and growled.

Frodo leaned over me to stop Butterbur, who was headed past us with a pair of handfuls of mugs. I leaned back, but Frodo's arm still laid across my lap after getting the man's attention. I glared at him. "Who is that man in the corner?" Frodo asked.

Butterbur assumed a dark tone. "He's one of them Rangers. I don't know his proper name, but folks around here call him Strider."

"Strider," Frodo repeated in a whisper. The man's pipe lit, illuminating his eyes for a flash of a second.

Somehow, in that second, Frodo's eyes had closed, and his hands had disappeared. I peeked under the table. The Ring was slipping around in his fingers. I itched to take it, to break him from the danger he was in. I had no choice but to slowly coax him off of it, and I knew that.

I lifted my hand to touch his shoulder, but then his eyes flashed open. I whipped around. We had both heard the same thing.

"Baggins! Sure, I know a Baggins! He's over there; Frodo Baggins!"

I turned and nearly pummeled Pippin as he explained the relation, but Frodo was quicker. He leaped from the bench and slipped through the crowd to Pippin. Frodo grabbed his elbow, and Pippin protested, throwing Frodo over.

I saw the glint of gold in the air, then watched in horror as it flipped back toward the floor, toward Frodo. He stretched out his hand to catch it . . . and it rolled around and slipped onto his finger. He promptly vanished.

The bar was suddenly buzzing. I turned and eyed Strider, who had stiffened considerably. I narrowed my eyes. He was not trustworthy. He stood and advanced to where Frodo had been standing, but I got there first. I produced my dagger.

"Don't hurt him," I pleaded, trying to sound dangerous, but more terrified.

Strider glanced down at me. "If anything, he will hurt himself," Strider said in a low voice, brushing past me. I sheathed my dagger and followed him. Frodo had retreated into a corner and removed the Ring, thrusting it into his pocket. Strider grabbed him by his upper arm, and I growled. He didn't seem to notice.

"I wouldn't draw more attention to yourself, Mr. Underhill," Strider hissed, also grabbing me and dragging us both up the stairs and into an adjoining room. Once he had shut the door he immediately crossed to the window.

"I can avoid being seen when I wish," he said, licking his fingers and pinching out a candle. Ripping off his hood, he turned. "But disappearing entirely! That is a rare gift."

Frodo swallowed.

"That is no trinket you carry."

We both rose to his defense. Myself physically.

"I carry nothing," Frodo said.

"Oh, believe me, I know," Strider said. "Are you frightened?"

This time Frodo wasn't lying. I had grabbed his hand; his pulse raced when he responded: "Yes."

"Well, you're not nearly frightened enough." Strider's gaze shot to me. "I know what hunts you."

 _The black riders._

He insisted he could help . . . and I somehow believed him. Just then, the door pounded, and Strider drew his sword. I raced to his side and drew my own, only slightly shorter. Pippin, Sam, and Merry burst in, the first bearing a candlestick, the second his fist, and the third a chair.

"Don't touch them, or I'll have you, longshanks!" Sam cried.

Strider relaxed, sheathing his sword. I wasn't quite sure we were safe with these hobbits in company, and Frodo supposedly threatened. "You have a stout heart, master hobbit," Strider said, "but that will not save you."

He provided beds for us that night. As there were only four beds, and Strider was already allowing his to be used by Pippin, I abstained from resting and remained awake with Strider, standing over Frodo. He did not sleep, but the others did. I rubbed his shoulder, trying to relieve some of the tension. He rolled over.

"I'm afraid, Sev," he said.

Taken aback, I leaned over him and wrapped my arms around his neck. He embraced me back, and I rubbed his shoulders a little.

"You'll be okay," I promised. My voice dropped. "I so swear, you will make it home alive and safe. If anything harms you, I will break it." My eyes pricked. Was he really letting me promise?

"Thank you." He settled back into bed, and I admonished him to sleep. He sighed and attempted to. I was worried; if sleep did not help, nothing could. I leaned on my sword hilt and turned to the window.

Strider beckoned me to his side and whispered, "You care for him?"

I nodded. "More than he will ever know." When Strider cocked his head, I embellished. "I could die for him, Strider, and would feel the better for it."

Strider nodded. "I am sorry." He paused. "I'm glad he has an able guardian. Keep him safe." He put a hand on my shoulder.

Gandalf's voice rang in my head. _Keep him safe._

"Yes, sir," I repeated.

Strider, satisfied, leaned back in his chair. We both glanced out the window, across the building to where the hobbits were originally going to stay.

"Do you have someone?" I asked.

His face grew remorseful. I was almost convinced he didn't, until he said, "She is giving up her immortal life for me." He shook his head. "War is upon us. She is not safe here."

My eyebrows lifted. "An Elf?" I whispered.

He nodded to Frodo. "He looks Elvish, does he not?"

I did not answer . . . out loud. Frodo was still awake, but showed no sign of hearing us. The silence was clouding the room, and I had no doubt his mind was too occupied. When my eyes locked on his face, my heart pained. His face was gentle and pale, rather slender. He looked just like an Elf. He seemed so afraid, and there was nothing I could do for that. Fear was the one poison I could not drain, and the only one that afflicted him now.

Then I heard a series of angry shrieks. Sam, Pippin and Merry sprang to a sitting position in bed. Frodo was still rolled over, facing away from them. His thumb traced a white sheet.

"What are they?" Pippin asked.

"Nazgul. Ringwraiths," Strider said. He and I glanced out the window at them. They were mounting their black, fiery steeds. "There are nine of them, and they were once great kings of men. Then the Dark Lord Sauron deceived them, offered them the rings. They took them without question, and one by one fell into darkness."

With that cheerful thought in mind, Strider told us it was time to get going. The three hobbits packed their bags and followed him. He directed them outside, but told me to remain behind with Frodo for a moment.

I sat there and watched. He looked uneasy, hooked on something dangerous and frightening. I sat on the bed next to him, and he did not move. Only when I put a hand on his shoulder and gently pressed did he react.

"Sev," he said.

I nodded.

"They are gone?"

I nodded again, left him, and packed what little he had. I slung his pack over my shoulder and gestured for him to come. He slipped out of bed and followed me out. Somehow he managed to retrieve his pack without me noticing, and said nothing.

Soon we were under way. Quickly after leaving Bree, we came across a forest just out of the town and slightly beyond the Brandywine. We walked the rest of the night, and close to dawn, Sam asked Strider where we were going.

"I'm taking you into the wild," was his reply.

That did not resolve the group's skepticism. Pippin and Merry expressed their distrust, but Frodo insisted it was the only way. I decided to defend that, but nothing more arose until Sam said,

"Well, where's he taking us?"

"To Rivendell, Master Gamgee," Strider said. "To the House of Elrond."

Sam chippered, "You hear that, Sev? We're going to see the Elves!"

I was excited, but I was more worried about Frodo than ecstatic about the Elves. I watched him carefully; at least he was talking to people. I felt the Ring, watching his pocket, and suddenly collapsed into pain again. I fell back. Sam asked if I was all right, and I told him I had a rock stuck between my toes. It probably came out remarkably blurred, but he believed it.

Once the pain subsided, I was shocked, as I continued, to see Frodo waiting for me.

They had stopped for breakfast when Frodo and I had caught up. I told him he could lean on me if necessary, although it ended up being the other way around. He pulled his arm away when we reached the group. We ate quickly and continued.

We had not been going for another hour when the packpony, Bill, was halted again by Sam, and the hobbits began unpacking meats and pans for second breakfast. I caught up with Strider; I wasn't hungry.

Strider turned to me. "Where is Frodo?"

I nodded to Bill.

"Gentlemen," Strider said, a little shocked. All four hobbits glanced up.

"We do not stop until nightfall."

Admittedly, I laughed triumphantly inside. Finally, we would stop wasting time on food. I just hoped Frodo didn't stop eating, if nothing else. Then I'd be worried.

"Don't stop?!" Pippin cried. "What about breakfast?"

"We've already had it," Strider replied.

Sam and Frodo already started packing up, and I began to help, when Pippin responded smugly, "We've had one, yes. What about _second_ breakfast?" He assumed an according expression. Strider just moved on, and so did most of the rest of us.

Ahead of me, Merry had subdued. "I don't think he knows about second breakfast, Pip."

"Well, what about elevenses? Luncheon? Afternoon tea? Dinner, supper! He must know about them!"

I shook my head. Merry voiced, "I wouldn't count on it."

Just then an apple flew out of the sky, and Merry caught it. The second whacked Pippin in the head.

"Pippin!" Merry called, exasperated.

We walked on for many more hours, over stony places and through thick, wooded ones. About the middle of the afternoon, Frodo said,

"I finished the book, Sev."

My eyes widened, and I turned to him with a mock glare. "Without me?" I cried.

He smiled a little. It was so good to see him smile; I could have kissed him just for that. He did not laugh, but I was grateful for what I could see and know anyway. Then he nodded.

"I got over the contemplative spot."

"When did you have time to finish it?"

He glanced behind us. "During breakfast. You were flirting with Pippin."

I frowned to myself. "Devil," I mumbled again. He nudged my shoulder and caught up to Bill. I faltered, watching him. The pains began to swell again.

The Ring was troubling him. I did not like it. Something had traumatized him with the Ringwraiths. I wanted nothing but to help; I got that opportunity when we entered marshlands.

Before we stepped into the murk, Frodo and I each grabbed each other up and down the elbows. We maintained each other's balance that way, and were kept mostly clear of the waters and the chill. Pippin fell entirely in the water once, and Merry cried, "What do these bugs eat when they can't get hobbit?!"

Soon we had cleared the marshes enough to find rest. Frodo lowered me to the ground; I was shaking, but not from the walking. From the moment the bugs appeared, little wounds and their sirens began popping up on all of the hobbits, and it was all I could do to remain conscious. The pain was excruciating, burning me from the head to toes.

Frodo sat down next to me, but I did not stay down for long. I lifted his cloak to dry on a nearby tree branch, and offered to rub his feet just a little. He accepted somewhat ambivalently; then I made a humorous effort of it, and we both laughed a little.

Strider shot a deer for dinner that night. It tasted wonderful in a stew he made, warming us up to the insides. Nothing delightful was said; no one was in any condition to speak. The Ringwraiths were still out there, and the pressure was still growing.

We soon rolled off to sleep. Sam did not complain of discomfort, and Strider was quiet while he was awake. I laid near his feet, from a decent vantage point to keep an eye on Frodo. The other hobbits were positioned to keep him safe as well.

Strider glanced down at me. "Would you like me to sing?" he asked.

I swallowed and nodded.

His voice was deep and soothing, lighting upon the notes of a solemn, Elvish melody. I understood; it was a romance. I could feel the passion in his words, the deepening of his tone when the young man was mentioned, the lighter loveliness when the woman spoke.

Within moments, Frodo sat upright. I let my eyes drift closed.

"Who is she?" he asked. "This woman you sing of?"

I hadn't expected him to care, and apparently neither did Strider. It tugged at me a little to hear him say that, but I slapped the feeling off. It was no sign for him to care.

"Luthien, an Elf maiden that gave her love to Beren, a mortal."

"What happened to her?" Frodo asked. Apparently he could understand as well.

Strider stammered just a little. "She died."

Frodo stilled, and so did I. I cringed when an image of Frodo, dead on my lap, cracked across my mental vision. I rolled up tighter in my cloak as my eyes strained wide open.

Strider sighed. "Get some rest, Frodo."

I sat up. "I'm sorry, Strider."

He cocked his head.

"I'm sure it worries you, to love an Elf."

He nodded solemnly. "You should rest too," he said.

I turned and laid back down. I knew he didn't want to speak of it, so I avoided the subject, allowing my eyes to close once in a while. I watched Frodo. His breathing soon leveled. But he cringed in his sleep. I feared for him.

I asked Strider if I could have a moment. He agreed, and I tiptoed to Frodo.

I pressed my lips gently to his cheek. It was cold, fragile. He did not move.

"I'll never let them hurt you," I whispered.

I left him and rolled up in my cloak. Sleep never came.

The night was dark.


	7. From Weathertop to Rivendell

The next day was mostly travel under a darkened sky. I was perplexed because we only walked half the day before we spotted a rather peculiarly placed hill, topped with a crown of castle ruins, and Strider said we would rest there for the night. We left the pony at the base of the hill, and the rest of us climbed it, settling into a niche with our cloaks.

"These are for you," Strider said, withdrawing four shortswords and dispensing them between the four hobbits. He turned to me.

"I don't have one for a female, unfortunately-,"

I threw it off. "I have my own, Strider. And I appreciate the gesture, but I'm sure . . ." I didn't finish, didn't say I could fight better without a sword than they could with one. While I could be snarky sometimes, I didn't want to discourage anyone at the moment.

He nodded, a smile creeping onto his face. He patted me on the shoulder.

"Keep them safe, will you?" he murmured.

I nodded, my peripheral initially shifting to keep an eye on Frodo of anybody. Three of the hobbits drifted away, but Frodo remained in his cloak, watching his sword somewhat intently.

I sat down next to him. "Frodo?"

He looked up. "You want to finish the book?"

I nodded, then shook my head. "Not now, my friend." I sighed and settled.

He lifted an eyebrow. "Must be a predicament indeed."

I didn't reply. He didn't need to know I was watching him that closely.

"Who are you watching?" he asked after a moment, but he didn't sound solemn. I hadn't realized my gaze had turned elsewhere. "Pippin?"

I turned to him in mock surprise and disbelief. "As if I would!" He almost laughed at that, and I thought, _Good enough._ I ruffled his hair. "You didn't get enough sleep last night, that's what it is. Go to bed, Frodo." Then I paused and leaned a little closer. Expecting something anti-climactic and jocose, he did too.

I stifled a laugh before I had to swallow it. "Do not fear them, Frodo. I will watch you. Sleep peacefully, please."

Frodo nodded. A slight smile maintained his face as he let down onto his side. "Thank you, Sev," he said.

I laid down a foot away from him.

Somehow I must have drifted off, because when I awoke, Frodo was frantic, stamping out a fire that had been surrounded by the other three hobbits.

"That's nice!" Pippin pouted. I leaped up to help, but Frodo handled it well himself. I settled back onto my knees, pained. _So much for guarding him. What did you have to go and fall asleep for?_

Then I heard a shrill shriek and glanced down into the foggy blackness. Everyone else did, too. Ringwraiths.

"Get to the top!" Frodo cried. We all grabbed our swords and rushed up into the ruins . . . although I felt that we would have a better chance of survival not trapping ourselves. As though severely coincidental, the former castle was now bowl-shaped with no room for escape, and leering, stone statues of kings surrounded us on all sides. We crowded in the center, mostly in a compacted circle around Frodo. I was glad at least we all knew what we were doing as group for once.

They didn't appear all at the same time. They drifted in from the darkness, like black ghosts in a funeral procession. They wielded silver, crooked blades, and I knew the hobbits would not be able to fight them off. We had to run, until Strider came back. But there were five Wraiths; there was nowhere to go. I didn't know what to do.

When they advanced far enough, Pippin and Merry rushed them, and were quickly swept aside. Sam was knocked back as well; Frodo and I backed away, and in his panic, Frodo lost his sword. Frodo backed into a pile of rock, and I remained standing next to him.

The head of the Nazgul lifted his sword to Frodo.

"Leave him alone!" I snapped, cutting at his hand. I actually made a mark; the Ringwraith hissed and recoiled. Another Ringwraith off the side grabbed my wrist, twisted my blade out of my hand, and dragged me off, one hand embedded in my hair and the other holding a Morgul blade to my neck. My blood sizzled, apparently excited by the Ringwraith. It hissed, seemingly gratified, and the blade sunk a little deeper, although did not pierce my neck.

Frodo flipped out the Ring and was about to put it on. Shocked, I glanced between him and the Ringwraith in front of him, who seemed surprised and ecstatic at the sight of the Ring. He bent down, stretching his hand to take it.

"Frodo! Frodo!" I cried, but it was useless. "The Ring, Frodo!"

Frodo slipped it on, vanishing.

"Frodo!"

The Ringwraith reached forward, as though he could still see Frodo. Then he hissed and withdrew his hand, and proceeded to stab with his blade. The blade halted inches above the ground, and a great cry sounded.

"Noo!" I bit the hand that held the blade and wrenched away, retrieving my sword. I hacked at the Ringwraith that had stabbed Frodo, and the moment the creature released the blade, Frodo reappeared, stuffing the Ring in his pocket. I grabbed the hilt and yanked the blade away. Frodo was moaning and writhing in such pain . . . I knelt down next to him and grabbed him by the shoulders, lifting him away from further harm. "Sev . . ." he groaned, straining his shoulder.

Then, by some miracle, Strider appeared with a torch. He proceeded to fight off the Nazgul. Some leaped off the ruins, and others began to shriek as they burned from the light of the torch. Once the last was erupting in flames, Strider turned and helped me carry Frodo down the hill. We dragged him into the woods, the other hobbits racing behind, demanding to know if he would be all right.

 _Twits,_ I thought, _of course he's not all right!_ His eyes were closed, and he was convulsing repeatedly. Strider and I hastily laid him down, and it happened to be in the shadow of Bilbo's three trolls, which was the first thing Frodo heard from Sam when he regained partial consciousness.

"Is he going to die?" Pippin asked worriedly.

Frodo choked a little. I felt his forehead; it was a burning chill, brimming with darkness and spreading up the sides of his face in clawlike strands.

"He was stabbed by a Morgul blade," Strider said. "He will become a wraith like them. He needs Elvish medicine." Despite that latest statement, he and Sam ran to find something to slow the blackness.

Strider had lifted Frodo's shirt away from the wound. It had pierced his shoulder, and was an ugly, purple-black reservoir of dark poison, spreading visibly throughout him. The skin around it was turning gray; his breathing coursed beneath it, struggling in and out.

I kept my hand on his forehead, rubbing and stroking. There was nothing more I could do. His skin grew cold, sweating though he was. His eyes flickered as he studied my face from some distant mentality I couldn't let him pursue.

Then a great flash of white light filled my vision, and Frodo turned his head. I glanced up; an Elf. I must have been having a vision of sorts, because one moment she shone a brilliant white and told Frodo to come back to the light, and the next she knelt by Frodo's side. He had begun to convulse again, but the darkness drew back.

"Who is she?" Pippin asked.

"She's an Elf!" Sam cried joyfully.

Strider ripped a piece of the weed he had found and began to sprinkle it through Frodo's shoulder. The hobbit's eyes bulged, and I cringed. The pains took over again.

"He is fading," Arwen said. "We must get him to my father!" They lifted him onto the horse, and proceeded to determine who should ride with him.

"Please, let me go with him," I said quietly. They paused, and Arwen shook her head.

Strider put a hand over hers. Frodo groaned, and Strider explained in Elvish. Arwen nodded, then tried to help me onto the horse. I leaped on from the back as efficiently as I knew how, and looped my arms through Frodo's to reach the reins.

I promised to send steeds back for them, and Arwen urged the horse away. He sprang into the woods.

I heard Sam behind me: "What are you doing? Those wraiths are still out there!"

They took Frodo. I would take them. Eyes narrowed, I urged the horse forward. The shrieks sounded in the forest around us.

We rode the rest of the night and into the following day without too much trouble . . . until we cleared the trees for a moment. When I turned around to look, there were five black steeds racing after us, all riders urging them faster, flanking me on all sides.

I let the horse have his head, and he slipped into a faster gait, tossing his head. Branches scratched at my face, and Frodo swayed with the horse. I had to hold hard to keep him up when we leaped over a fallen tree.

Then one of the Nazgul was to head with us, and he reached with armored fingers toward Frodo. It was hard enough to hold Frodo up and guide the horse through the maze of trees; I was frightened and angered. Frodo leaned initially towards the Ringwraith, and I cursed at it in Elvish, grabbing Frodo's jaw as gently as I could manage and lurching it away from the Nazgul. I urged the horse faster.

Finally we turned into a path that led to the stream I knew of, the one that was near Rivendell. I urged the horse over it, and the Ringwraiths did not follow. Shrieking, they spurred and yanked their horses back and forth, not daring to cross. Their leader, who had stabbed Frodo, halted his horse.

He hissed, "Hand him over, she-Halfling."

I drew my sword. "You want him? Then come and claim him!" I prayed for help, then turned the horse and fled. I could hear the Ringwraiths cautiously treading the water . . . and then an Elvish chant ricocheting off the canyon nearby. The Ringwraiths screamed, and when I slowed the horse to look back, they had been swept away by a great series of crashing waves.

Relieved, I urged the horse forward. We rode for only a few more minutes when Frodo groaned, rolling from the horse. He dragged me off with him and, luckily for me, the horse slowed.

We tumbled on the ground, arms locked. I finally slowed both of us down, then strove to my knees and laid Frodo on his back. "Frodo!" I cried. "Oh, Frodo . . .!" His face was growing darker. His eyes were icy, and the whites were growing tainted. He was gasping, fading away.

I held his face to my shoulder, wrapping him in my arms. "Please," I begged, "give him the light that I don't have. Save him, please, he is all I have! He is the hope of this world. Save him . . ."

With that, I felt a surge of half-hopeful energy. I wound one arm around his shoulders and another under his knees, and strained to lift him onto the horse. Obliging, the horse bent down and allowed me to slide Frodo back into the saddle. I kept a hand on his shoulder, and I was breathing hard. My back had been strained; the pains were returning. I quickly mounted the horse, who obviously knew the way home and acted accordingly. I fell unconscious, slumping into Frodo's shoulders.

It only took what seemed like a quarter hour to reach Rivendell. When I saw the gleaming city in the midst of mountains and waterfalls, I urged the horse even faster. He galloped ravenously, and slowed when we reached the actual structure. I tumbled from the saddle regardless. Once I recovered from that, I struggled to pull Frodo from the horse, and he nearly collapsed to the ground. I looped his arm around my shoulders and strained. So few steps from Rivendell, and I hardly had the strength to carry on.

Gandalf came rushing out then. I begged for help, sagging under Frodo's dead weight. Gandalf lifted Frodo's torso, while I maintained a grip on his ankles.

Gandalf said nothing until we had Frodo situated on a white bed. I removed his cloak, and Gandalf dismissed me from the room. Elrond rushed in, and I followed him. Gandalf had dressed Frodo in white; the top hung loose and fell about the sides of the bed. I swallowed; Elrond put a hand to Frodo's shoulder, urging him to come back to the light. Medications were administered. The world was a blur.

I recall Gandalf asking me where the horses needed to be sent. All I had to say was "trolls", and he spun away. Frodo was left alone, then, a bandage wound about his shoulder and the shirt wrapped around him. I sighed heavily. The day had certainly been a horrid one, much more so for him than for me.

Frodo tossed just a little, but every time he moved, I snaked out of my corner and sat on the bed next to him. I rubbed his good shoulder, praying he would make it through. His skin had lost its blackness, and his eyes now had but exhausted, purple circles around them. I brushed his hair back; the poor, dear boy. I worried for him.

Gandalf came back in and told me he would awaken soon, and that Arwen, Strider, and the hobbits had made it safely to Rivendell. I backed into my corner, ashamed of how I had not been able to protect him. He had suffered a major wound, one that I was certain could never be remedied. And it was my fault.

"Where . . . where am I?" Frodo managed at last. His eyes did not open, and he tossed a little. I tensed. The pains were back.

"In the House of Elrond, Rivendell. It is 10:00 in the morning, on October the 24th, if you want to know."

Frodo finally sat up. "Gandalf!" Then he grimaced and rubbed his shoulder. He glanced at Gandalf, eyebrows drawn together. "What happened, Gandalf? Why didn't you meet us?"

Gandalf paused. "I was delayed." Then he stared into the distance for a moment, lost in his own head.

"Gandalf?" Frodo asked.

Gandalf shook his head. "Sorry." Then he gestured with his head to Frodo's shoulder. "You took quite the injury, my dear hobbit. A few more hours, and you would have been beyond our aid. But thanks to the healing skills of Lord Elrond, you are on the mend."

Elrond smiled kindly. "Welcome to Rivendell, Frodo Baggins."

Frodo smiled back, although it was not one of his deep smiles that I loved so much. I turned away. I suppose Frodo saw it, or at least caught movement from his vantage point.

"Sev?" he asked.

I bit my lip, then sprang from my corner and wrapped my arms around his shoulders.

"Frodo, you're-well, curses, still a hobbit!" I cried.

He hugged me back, and I did my best to leave his wounded shoulder alone. "Yes, Sev."

"No small thanks to her, either," Gandalf said. "She was the one that brought you."

I pulled away and grabbed Frodo's hand. "She hasn't left your side since." I suppose I turned red at that, because Frodo chuckled a little. Then he produced a book from the desk next to him and handed it to me.

I ruffled his hair before I accepted the book. "Devil." Then I knelt beside the bed, not releasing his hand.

That is, of course, until heard Sam in the hallway. Then I sharply folded into myself. Sam greeted me warmly, then rushed to Frodo.

"And Sam here has hardly left your side." I hadn't remembered seeing Sam in with Frodo, but I was kind of in my own head for a while.

"We were scared to death, weren't we, Mister Gandalf?" Sam said excitedly. He left soon, however, allowing Frodo to rest. Gandalf and Elrond departed as well, and I turned to go.

Frodo stopped me, though. "You might as well stay in and read, Sev," he said.

"As long as you sleep," I threatened.

He sighed and leaned back in the piles of pillows. I snickered.

"Just imagine you're in an Elvish bed, with a superior mattress and three hundred, lovely feather pillows," I said, withholding a laugh. Frodo actually did so; it was high and clear, and sent chills up my back. At least he wasn't forever dead.

"Good night, Frodo," I said, sitting next to the bed.

Soon he was asleep, and I had finished the book. I decided that, when he awakened, he ought to get dressed. He'd want to see the rest of Rivendell before we headed back to the Shire.

The Shire. Things would change. He was wounded now. I had heard Gandalf speaking of its permanence with grave dread. I didn't like the sound of it.

I set the book down, pondering what I had read. Close to the end, the poor squire was shot in the heart with an arrow. Mallia swore to be his, and nearly died with him until she realized it could be healed in ways she understood. They never revealed the method in the book, but made a point of love, any kind of love, from sibling-rivalry love to romantic love, could be divine and all-powerful.

*I stood to leave, and then saw Frodo's face. It was relaxed, sweet and gentle . . . drifting in white dreams of no pain. His face looked so serene, soft . . . I couldn't help myself. I fingered his hair away from his face and kissed his cheek.

He turned this time, and I scolded myself, resolving not to do it again. I prepared to go.

"Sev," he muttered.

"Yes, Frodo?"

"Where are you going?"

"Where you cannot until you are dressed," I cackled, making a show of leaving. I saw Frodo rolling out of bed before I departed.


	8. The Ring, or the Fellowship and Scars

I was sitting on the veranda where Frodo and I had come in when I heard feet above me. I glanced up. Frodo was buttoning his vest and had come to stand on the balcony overlooking the river cutting through the center of Rivendell, dividing the halves of the forested canyon. He looked right at home, a small elf in and of himself.

Sam joined him soon after that, and I maintained distance, but managed to get relatively nearby. Pippin and Merry were ecstatic to see him, and he greeted Bilbo warmly. Bilbo and Frodo requested to have a moment to look at Bilbo's books, and I almost turned away with the other hobbits. However . . . I had to stay and listen.

"There and Back Again," Frodo read, "A Hobbit's Tale by Bilbo Baggins!" He began flipping through the huge volume. I glimpsed diagrams of swords and armor, detailed maps, and paragraphs upon paragraphs of stories. "This is wonderful," Frodo voiced.

"I meant to go back," Bilbo said, sitting down. "See the Lonely Mountain again, visit Laketown. But age, it seems, is finally catching up with me."

 _The Ring,_ I thought bitterly. My hackles raised.

Then Frodo stopped. "The Shire," he said. "I spent all my childhood pretending I was somewhere else . . . off with you, on one of your adventures!" Then his face fell. "My own adventure turned out to be quite different."

Much more painful.

"I'm not like you, Bilbo."

"Oh," Bilbo said, "my dear boy." He traced his jaw.

They exchanged a few more words, mostly those of consolation from Bilbo, before Frodo left to find Sam. I began to pace, and didn't realize Bilbo was watching me until about five minutes had passed.

I opened my mouth to apologize, but Bilbo shook his head. "Frodo would have wanted you to be here. Come, sit, my dear Seville."

I hesitantly took Frodo's place on the bench. Bilbo hugged me about the shoulders.

"And how has our little she-hobbit been holding up with this?"

I had tried to tell him I wasn't a hobbit, but it simply wasn't to be borne. While my feet were still growing, probably to adapt to the circumstances around me, it would be soon impossible to tell me from a hobbit.

"It's hard to watch him go through so much pain," I admitted, biting my lip.

Bilbo nodded sadly. "Adventuring was certainly more fortunate for me," he said, "but I'm glad it's over for Frodo. Now you can all go home."

I shook my head with a small smile. "I love Rivendell. I would love to stay just a little longer, give Frodo more time to heal." Then I paused. "Gandalf said the wound was permanent." I shook my head hard this time. "It can't be, Bilbo. That would destroy him."

Bilbo sighed. "I fear it will."

I didn't want to process the idea; that beautiful light in Frodo's eyes . . . it would fall away. Then a question occurred to me. "Not to change the subject . . ."

Bilbo cocked his head.

". . . But did Frodo ever kiss you on the forehead before night?"

Bilbo shrugged. "Once in a while. Usually whenever he was feeling particularly lonely or bookish, the dear lad. Or if he'd been talking to you."

I paused, not daring to ask more.

Bilbo grinned then. "Seville, he cares for you at least as much as he cares for me. And your attraction to him is no secret, leastwise for me. I understand."

My face turned bright pink, and Bilbo chuckled. "He may need a good talking-to. He may not want to leave Rivendell, either."

"Then let us not depart!" I demanded jocosely, standing up. "We shall arise against our captors and remain in Rivendell!" I grinned, then waved to Bilbo as I left. He was laughing.

I went back to the room where Frodo had supposedly been healed, but I imagined they hadn't told him it was permanent. The poor hobbit. I didn't have the heart to tell him, either.

I realized, though, that if the wound were ever reopened or physically exposed to me again I would probably bite him trying to get the Morgul poison into my own system, although the wound would do nothing for me; the poison was not fatal. I was growing weary, not having any revival of blood that had worn sour. I didn't know how much longer I could have the strength to go on. Hopefully at least until we got home, then I could go crawl in a hole and die after saying goodbye to Frodo.

Leaving him in pain in this world . . . I shivered.

"Sam is packed," Frodo said, walking in casually. He sat on the bed, but I didn't get up. He grinned.

"The wall is that comfortable?"

"Better than standing up," I retorted. Frodo patted the bed, and I sat on it next to him. Sinking in to the mattress, I flopped over backwards and groaned. Frodo laughed outright.

"To Troneterra with a couch in the woods!" I cried. "Glory to the Rivendell beds and their white, angelic mattresses!"

Frodo lifted an eyebrow. "So I'm the devil sleeping in the angelic bed?"

"Not anymore," I said. "It's my bed now. You can't have it back." Then I paused. "Sam's already packed?"

He nodded. "We're leaving after Elrond's council in three days." He only looked partially put out.

I sat back up. "No. We are revolting. Leastwise, I am! You can go back if you want to. I like the Elves and their angelic beds." I groaned again and curled up behind Frodo. He laughed, and was probably going to ruffle my hair . . . but there was that pause then. His hand stayed on my forehead, tracing down and landing limply on the bed.

Trying not to let the moment get solemn enough for me to think of us as a pair, I picked up his hand and let it fall on the bed with a slap. "Yep. Dead. I figured. We'd better amputate that, Frodo."

He laughed. "Wrong arm, Sev, and this one isn't entirely dead."

"Oh?" I said innocently. "What if I licked it? Would it live?" I leaned forward, tongue out, and he just chuckled. I laughed, too.

We talked to Bilbo more, and read some of his book. We shared meals with the Elves, and the food was brilliant. Pippin told me I had to cook up to that standard if I ever wanted a husband. I laughed . . . but somehow Frodo didn't. He smiled and told me I'd do just fine. I almost told him I'd probably die of blood loss when we got home and wouldn't need to cook well at all, but decided not to mention it.

We sang songs, too. Silly ditties, mostly, and epic poems that Bilbo had written. I lowered my own voice to hear Frodo's. The first time I had heard him sing, four years before, I had thought it was Pippin, and I really liked his voice. Merry often teased me about thinking their voices were strong, clear, and beautiful . . . or something to that effect. How he knew, I never found out.

At some point, Frodo asked me if I would have shared the burden of the Ring, and told me I could carry it for a while if I wished. I was hesitant to agree, seeing as how it already itched on me, but I wondered if that was only because I was paranoid about him.

The moment it fell into my hand, however, I was entranced. It was a perfect circle of unadulterated gold, and I could see Elvish words shining through the Ring. It shimmered with perfect roundness.

Then the world went almost black, and my hand burned.

Frodo grabbed my shoulders and shook me out of it. "Sev! Sev, let go of the Ring!"

I did, and it clattered to the floor. An angry, dark red scar had worn into a circle on my palm, and I clutched it as I scrambled away from Frodo. I felt my blood deteriorate in a futile attempt to erase the mark, and I tried to shove it down, swaying with weakness. The pains attacked.

Frodo had no idea what was going on. I told him I could not hold the Ring, but would have if he had needed it.

Then came the Council of Elrond. I approached Elrond and asked if I was truly invited, and he asked me why I should be there. I replied that I was Frodo's personal guardian, and determined to be most committed of them. He complied, as I had brought Frodo from the forests on horseback alone, but told me to say little, as Frodo would only be there to present the Ring. I agreed.

The Council was composed of all humanoid races. There weren't enough seats, so I stood behind Frodo's chair.

Elrond began by welcoming the members of the Council, men, dwarves, and elves. "You have been summoned to answer the threat of Mordor. Frodo, bring forth the Ring."

I glared the other members of the Council down when Frodo presented the Ring. Now that I had a chance to really stare at it without being dragged right in to its power, it was a beautiful and cold thing, much like a lovely enchantress, reeling Frodo into her deadly trap. Then I paused.

I was jealous? Of a ring?

No. The Ring. The One Ring . . . that ruled all. And might someday rule Frodo.

I gripped his shoulder, terrified. It couldn't have him; he was too strong for it. He had to be.

There were some that were not, however. One man insisted that Gondor could take the Ring and use it against Sauron himself. Strider argued that, and so did a very handsome elf named Legolas. His argument, however, was no about the Ring; it was that Strider was, in fact, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir to the throne of Gondor.

I tried not to react; it all tied in, and everything suddenly made sense.

Once it was decided that the Ring could not stay in Rivendell and could not be used against Sauron, Elrond stated that it must be destroyed. The dwarvish representative, Gimli, stood abruptly.

"Well, what are we waiting for?!" he snapped. He brought his axe down with a crash upon the Ring. The axe flew in pieces, and the Elves rushed on the dwarf, angered. The men caught the dwarf, who was blown back by the force of the Ring. Frodo grabbed his head, groaning, and my scar blazed with an inner fire. The pains were intense now, and I collapsed to my knees. I had to recatch my breath before I could ask Frodo if he was all right.

"I saw the eye again," he said, shaking. I rubbed his shoulder and kissed the top of his head, trying to keep him calm. And trying to assure myself that he was still alive. It seemed to work, only a little bit, for both of us.

"The Ring cannot be destroyed by any weapon or method we have here," Elrond said gravely. "It must be destroyed where it was forged, in the fires of Mount Doom."

Boromir, the man from Gondor, spoke of how we could not simply go into Mordor, and listed the dangers. I wondered who would be crazy and brave enough to go on with the Ring. It was then that I decided that I needed to get Frodo away from here as quickly as possible.

It was argued who was to take it. The dwarves against the Elves, the men intervening. Voices rose, insults and treacherous statements were exchanged. Even Gandalf joined in the argumentation, trying to quiet them down. Frodo was breathing hard, grabbing his forehead, and staring at the Ring.

I thought I heard Frodo.

"Sev, I'm going to take it."

I leaned down to ask him if he had said something, if he was crazy, or if it was someone else talking.

But then he abruptly stood. "I will take it!" he cried.

The world shattered just then. I stared at him, horrified. "I will take it!" he repeated, just as loudly. His words echoed in my ears, and I sank to the floor. I should have volunteered before Frodo had the chance; it would kill him.

The voices stopped and Gandalf, his expression dark and pained, turned around slowly to face Frodo. With equal conviction, Frodo said, "I will take the Ring to Mordor. Although I do not know the way."

He sounded so young, and not ready for this. To leave him unprotected would be to violate everything I stood for . . . all of which happened to be Frodo. "I will go with you," I said immediately, putting my arm around his shoulders. He smiled and whispered, "I would have it no other way, Sev."

Gandalf expressed his loyalty as well, followed by Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli. Boromir offered on behalf of all of Gondor. Sam exploded from behind the bushes and insisted that he go, and so did Pippin and Merry from an adjoining pavilion.

"Besides," Pippin added, "You need people of intelligence on this mission . . . quest . . . thing."

"That rules you out, Pip," Merry said. Pippin nodded, then glared.

"Well, then," Elrond said, in somewhat of good humor after the sudden appearance of the other hobbits, "10 companions. You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring."

"Great!" Pippin said excitedly. "So. Where are we going?"

All eyes turned to him. This would be exciting indeed.

Frodo gripped my shoulders. I hoped this wouldn't be too awful, as Pippin and Elrond seemed to be treating it.

I held him. Fear and hope . . . clashing violently, they were . . . and fear was winning.


	9. The Beginning of our Journey

After perhaps two or three more tormenting days at Rivendell (all during which I avoided everyone for sake of my now frequent pains), Bilbo summoned Frodo to the chambers he had adopted. Frodo requested that I come along. How he managed to find me on the top of the roof, I don't know. But one moment I was begging the Great Creator to spare my Frodo on this journey, and the next he was sliding into place beside me.

"Bilbo has some belongings that might help," is how he started out.

I lifted an eyebrow. "Oh?"

He nodded. I turned to him, attempting to assume a mock suspicion. "Swords, armor, things of that sort."

I frowned. "He was the only hobbit on his journey; he could only want to give whatever he had to you. Besides, I have weapons. I need nothing more." Then I paused. "You're the one that's going to need the armor." It was intended with humor, and he may have taken it as such, but my own words chilled me to the core.

"It will be dangerous for all of us," he said. Then he turned to me. His eyes were tired and dark, and I cringed. "Maybe you should go back to the Shire."

"I'm here to protect you!" I protested. "There is nothing you could say that would make me go back. That Ring is every bit as dangerous for you as it is for me, regardless of who's carrying it, and I know the risks. I can't let it kill you."

"I'll have others with me."

I shook my head. "They do not know, Frodo. They have not touched the Ring. They may fall away; remember Elrond said they are under no obligation to go with you. I am. I have sworn to protect you."

It only took a dark glance at the Ring around Frodo's neck from me and a deep look from Frodo to settle the debate.

Frodo didn't argue his point after that, and I didn't argue mine. He accepted that I would go, and I accepted that I would either need armor or could simply say goodbye to Bilbo. Well . . . somewhat. He seemed satisfied, but I only made that an external effort.

When we came down, Bilbo was ecstatic. He pulled out a bundle that clinked and laid it on his bed. He beckoned Frodo forward and greeted me fleetingly.

He produced the blade Sting for Frodo, and to my surprise he flicked his eyes to a smaller bundle for me. I picked it up and found a dagger inside. It looked remarkably like Sting, and apparently was also forged by elves. Frodo's blade shone blue in the presence of orcs, unlike mine, and I figured that was just as well.

I found an iron wrap of chainmail inside, fitted to my figure, which was admittedly difficult to manage. To Frodo Bilbo presented mithril; I missed his explanation until he insisted, ". . . and as hard as dragon scales!" I perked up, then relaxed. At least Frodo could hopefully take care of himself with assets of such. "Here, let me see you put it on!" Bilbo cried.

I turned away, but there was a pause in the air. I turned back. Frodo had frozen, and Bilbo was staring longingly at Frodo.

"Oh . . . my old ring!"

A growl rose in the back of my throat.

"Could I just hold it? One last time?"

Frodo slipped his shirt back over the Ring, and Bilbo's face grew wary. He snapped at Frodo, reaching for the Ring. Frodo recoiled, and I leaped up, dagger drawn.

Bilbo's face settled, and he began to sob. I backed away; poor old Bilbo had no idea what had come over him.

"I'm so sorry, my boy!" Bilbo sank away and sat down. "It's my fault you have to carry this burden! I'm so sorry."

Frodo's expression softened, and my heart broke. I felt Bilbo's pain here, clear as day it came across the room and carved into my heart. Our sweet, dear Frodo. The Ring would break him, and we both knew it. Well, Bilbo probably couldn't recognize it consciously, but he knew.

Gently Frodo stepped forward and slipped a hand over Bilbo's shoulder. Bilbo clung to it. I joined them; the pain was awful alone.

"The Ring is setting out from Rivendell," Elrond announced. Frodo looked dark and solemn; that frightened me. "None of you are under any obligation to go further than you will."

Oh, I was. But it didn't matter; I'd go the whole way if I had to slide on my stomach. After Weathertop, I was determined to keep Frodo as alive as possible coming home.

"The Fellowship awaits the Ringbearer."

Frodo nodded and turned, surveying the group. I was at the back to join with him when he set out at the first. Once we reached the door of Rivendell, however, he turned to me.

"Mordor, Sev," he said, "is it left or right?"

I paused. "Left," I said finally. I had asked Gandalf how to get to Mordor, in case any of us got separated. I had a map tucked in my vest, but it probably wasn't going to be much help. I'd been pouring over it the past couple of days, memorizing the route and the safest places to go and be.

Frodo led us; to the left, and suddenly we had taken the first steps on the quest of a lifetime. I felt my ignorant spirits lift; we were going somewhere, to fight evil with the strength of every race on our side.

Then my heart sank. Frodo carried that evil with him. I wanted to get rid of it as soon as possible, in case it hurt him any more. I only knew that the Ring carried psychological power, and that it could turn one invisible, but knew little else.

We walked for several days, leaving Rivendell and its canyons behind to come through mountainous, somewhat vegetated terrain. We followed such for a few uneventful days, and I was rather glad, if not completely on edge, for the time being. I watched Frodo carefully, and felt his forehead every night when all the others were asleep. Usually one was kept up on watch, but there were moments when I had the time to myself. Soon it became less of a watchful movement and more of a caress. I found myself deeply embedded in his well-being, as these moments were peaceful. The days were easier, knowing he was okay and knowing there were worse things that could happen.

He seemed to grow more isolated, and I soon asked him about it. He shrugged it off, told me everything was all right. I doubted it, but didn't push him further. He would either confide in me or he wouldn't . . . more likely the latter, but I prayed that would change. It had to; if he didn't trust me he wouldn't trust anyone.

After a few days, we stopped for a real hobbit meal, at Sam's pleading inquiry and Pippin's insistence. As Sam cooked fine sausage, Pippin and Merry began swordfighting, and I sat next to Frodo. He seemed to be feeling just a little better, and I produced a book I'd been given at Rivendell. He read it, and to my utter relief, his eyes glowed with that enchantment in a book.

I rubbed his shoulder, taking care not to touch his wound. It would probably hurt if I did. As the wound couldn't kill him, I gathered I couldn't drain the death—or lack thereof—from it.

Behind us, Gandalf laid out the path to Gimli. We were going east for an additional forty days, and then would head south toward Mordor. Sam brought food for Frodo, and he actually ate a little; I was feeling rather successful.

A chuckle arose amongst us when Boromir accidentally nicked Pippin's palm. To his apology, Pippin reacted with a hard kick to the shins that swept Boromir off his feet. Merry and Pippin attacked him, "for the Shire!", and he laughed. We all did. Finally Aragorn shouted, "All right, that's enough!" and attempted to break them up, but he was also knocked to the ground.

I slapped a hand over my mouth. I was laughing too hard; my sides hurt.

Until I heard Gimli.

"Gandalf, let us take the path through the Mines of Moria. My cousin, Balin, would give us a royal welcome."

This was all well and good until Gandalf replied, "I would not go through Moria unless I had no other choice."

That couldn't be all right.

Then Legolas spotted something in the distance, "moving fast" and "against the wind." Legolas shouted something that I didn't understand, and Aragorn cried out, "Hide!"

I grabbed what I could and stuffed Frodo under the safest, most concealed crevice I could find. Sam dumped water over the fire, and we were soon stashed behind rocks and under bushes. I had no choice but to be sandwiched against Frodo, and I scarcely moved. He was breathing hard. I wrapped my cloak hard around myself.

Ravens, cawing angrily, flew over us, then rebounded in a circle and were gone. When we all unwrapped from our hiding places, Gandalf's expression was grave.

"Spies of Saruman. The road east is no longer safe. We must take the pass of Caradhras!"

The mountain was cold, forbidding, and huge. I didn't have to like taking Frodo up there, but running in to Saruman would be much worse. And so we went on, quickly passing from grasslands into banks of thick snow, and up into freezing altitudes. I was worried about Frodo. His lips and nose quickly turned bright pink, then dark red, and finally faint purple. After two days, I offered him my cloak and insisted that he take it.

He shook his head. "Sev, you'll freeze."

I frowned. "Then so be it," I insisted, wrapping the cloak jocosely around his head. After a moment I pulled it back off, and before he could say anything, I got right up in his face and said,

"Or I'll rub it back to normal. One of the two."

He sighed. His breath was warm, and my nose tingled.

"Or we could just warm each other up, if you're really going to be that stubborn," I mused to myself. I supposed he would have picked that option last of all, but he decided on that. I tried to convince him I was kidding, but it was unsuccessful. So I had an arm and my cloak wrapped around his shoulders on our way up the mountain. If my face hadn't been red before it was now. At least Frodo blamed it on the cold.

As we trudged up the face of the mountain, the snow was getting too deep, and we were dragging each other up. Frodo's foot was caught, and he flipped over backwards, out from under my arm and rolling through the snow.

"Frodo!" Aragorn and I cried out simultaneously, and I rolled after him, catching his hand just before Aragorn put two hands around his torso and pulled him to his feet.

Frodo clutched at his chest, and we spotted the Ring, glistening on its snapped chain in the snow about two or three yards away. Boromir slowly bent down and lifted the chain. Frodo's expression darkened, and a growl rippled through my throat.

"Boromir," Aragorn warned.

"Strange, that we should suffer so much fear and doubt over such a little thing," Boromir said distantly. "Such a little thing . . ." He almost fingered the Ring.

"Boromir!" Aragorn snapped.

Boromir shook from his stupor and began to chuckle.

"Give the Ring to Frodo," I said, fingering my dagger with my left hand and my sword with my right. I noticed Aragorn was doing the same.

Boromir stepped forward slowly. "Of course! I care not." He handed the Ring to Frodo, who snatched the chain away, his eyes never leaving Boromir. The man ruffled Frodo's hair and went to rejoin the group.

I held my hand out to Frodo, and he cocked his head at it. Aragorn moved to give me his hand, but I shook my head.

"The chain," I said. "I can fix it."

Frodo reluctantly handed me the Ring, and I wrenched apart the metal loop up by the clasp and back through the next unbroken chain link, then bent it back together. I slipped it over Frodo's hair and on to his neck, and gestured for him to go ahead.

"The hand you could have taken and you took the Ring," Aragorn chuckled.

I shook my head. "I've had my arm around him all day; I needed my sanity back." Unfortunately, the Ring had done that all too well. Aragorn led me back up to Frodo, and this time I was slightly more on guard when I wrapped an arm around his shoulder. I brought my cloak around his front and grabbed it around the other side. He responded with a hand around my waist.

Slowly we were both warming up.


	10. Caradhras and Moria

Warmth did not last long. Soon Boromir carried Merry and Pippin through blizzarded peaks and twists, and Aragorn held Sam. He offered to take Frodo as well, but I challenged him, asked if he would be as watchful as I was. He reluctantly replied that while I felt more strongly about it, Frodo would be safer with Aragorn. I conceded, then, and took up refuge in my own cloak.

Legolas and I walked upon the top of the snow. I was not bothered by the cold to such a deep effect, and I found that by touching Pippin's nose I could drain the cold from his face. I did not tell Aragorn; I didn't want to seem compulsive, and figured Aragorn knew better than I did about life anyway.

Legolas perked, and so did I.

"There is a foul voice on the wind," he said. I listened, but still could hear nothing . . . until a crack and spray above us sent showers of snow cascading down the mountain. Legolas leaped against the mountain, and Aragorn ducked with the hobbits under his arms. I leaped away from the snow as well, accidentally knocking into Aragorn. My hand skimmed over Frodo's chest, and my palm burned with contact on the Ring. I hissed and cowered into the snowbank.

"It is the voice of Saruman!" Gandalf called.

"He's trying to bring down the mountain!" Aragorn called. "Gandalf, we must turn back!"

Gandalf denied him and began to recite spells in response, but there was a crack of thunder, and lightning split the sky, snapping on the peak of the mountain. I grabbed Aragorn and threw him against the back snowbank, but the momentum shoved Frodo away from Aragorn. I grabbed him by the waist and yanked him back as a boulder slammed into the path where Aragorn had been. A cascade of snow followed, and Frodo and I burrowed together as the snow crunched in swathes.

Somehow in getting him to his feet and digging us out of the snow, my hand met Frodo's nose, and his face began to brighten immediately. He did not react much, dizzied by the snow and numbed by the freezing cold met by immediate warmth. I let his face drift back to a bright peach, then removed my hand and squeezed him a little around the shoulders. I lifted his cloak hood back over his head.

"Gandalf, we have to get off the mountain!" Boromir cried. "This will be the death of the hobbits!"

"We have no choice but to press on," was another's opinion.

"We must go through the mines!" Gimli insisted.

Gandalf swallowed, glancing at me. I didn't know what to do. I wrapped my other arm around Frodo, shaking my head in response. His eyes drifted back to a silver-blue, from their seemingly darkened and troubled state. I felt all he was doing was hiding worry that grew deeper and deeper.

"Let the Ringbearer decide," Gandalf said finally.

Gasping at the cold, Frodo glanced up at the wizard. "We shall go through the mines."

I winced, and Gandalf nodded gravely. We pressed forward, quickly exiting the pass. Once we stumbled out of the snowdrifts and in to gray canyons and labyrinths of mountains, I pulled to take my arm from Frodo, but somehow his remained around my waist.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

I nodded.

"I'm here to protect you, Frodo," I said. "I may not do a perfect job of it, but I'm trying."

He squeezed me just a little, then we continued on. He moved, however, and wrapped his arm around my shoulders, holding me in to him. He was afraid, and tired. So was I. But I couldn't afford to let him down because of my own weakness.

"Frodo!" Gandalf called. "Come and help an old man."

Frodo and I raced to the front of the line, and Frodo slipped under Gandalf's arm. I suddenly felt cold, and shivered a little.

"How's your shoulder?" Gandalf asked quietly.

"Better than it was," Frodo said finally as I slipped under Gandalf's other arm. I winced, pains throbbing. My fault, and I felt horrid about it. Gandalf warned him of the Ring's growing power; all three of us had felt it, and Gandalf told him not to trust some. This was said as Boromir passed.

"Then who do I trust?" Frodo asked.

"You must trust yourself," was all Gandalf said before he acknowledged the grandeur of Moria.

We spent the rest of that day looking for the door. "Dwarf doors are hidden," Gimli explained proudly as he knocked along the canyon wall. Gandalf added, "And the Masters can't even find them if the secrets are lost."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Legolas muttered.

Frodo slipped, and his foot slid into a huge lake of water. I grabbed his elbow, cocking my head. He assured me he was all right, and we continued. I was more cautious about keeping a hand on his arm from that point onward, though.

Finally Gandalf halted in front of an inscription, and muttered something about starlight and moonlight. Overhead the clouds passed to reveal a brilliant, beautiful moon, and it beamed upon the image of a double door wrapped in tree boughs and topped by a rounded arch.

Gandalf read the glowing, Elvish words on the arch. He finished with, ". . . speak friend and enter."

"What do you suppose that means?" Merry asked.

"Why, it's simple," Gandalf said casually. "If you are a friend, you speak the password and the doors will open." He set the end of his staff to the knob in the center and recited an Elvish phrase. We all expected the doors to swing wide open. They remained stoic and still. Even after the second or third time, Gandalf was unsuccessful.

"Well, now what are you going to do?" Pippin piped up.

Gandalf was shoving on the doors. "Bang your head against these doors, Peregrine Took, and if that does not open them, at least it will give me some rest from foolish questions!"

The wizard proceeded to attempt opening the door. Frodo and I sat down on a rock, and Sam worked with Aragorn to free the pony we had brought with us. Merry and Pippin took to skipping and throwing rocks across the lake.

"Frodo," I said, "are you sure the mines were the best road?"

Frodo glanced up at me. "No. We certainly couldn't have kept going, and I don't feel that going back down the Pass and taking our old road was wise, either." He paused. "Perhaps Moria is the best way."

"I heard Gandalf had some concerns," I said quietly.

Frodo frowned. "Really?"

I nodded. "I remember him telling Gimli that-," I shook my head and waved a hand. "Never mind that. The decision is made, and I understand your point."

Gandalf sat down, exasperated, and threw his staff to the side. Frodo narrowed his brow and stood.

"It's a riddle!" he said. I glanced up, then smacked my forehead with a palm. How had I not seen that? Probably a result of not focusing on the task on hand; I didn't even know if I would classify the phrase as a riddle or as a direct instruction.

"'Speak friend . . . and enter!' What's the Elvish word for friend?" he asked Gandalf.

"Melloch," he replied, and the thick, stone doors began to creak open. The company stood, and we followed Gandalf inside. Frodo and I took up the rear; no one else seemed to care or notice that he had just opened what Gandalf could not, and what the rest of us couldn't either. I squeezed his shoulders.

"I knew how to open it," I teased.

Frodo laughed.

"Seriously, though," I said, "that was awesome. More powerful than Gandalf; you should be feeling great about yourself."

"Soon, elf," Gimli boasted, "you will experience the hospitality of the dwarves! Roaring fires, malt beer, ripe meat right off the bone!" At this, Gandalf screwed a gem into his staff and blew on it until it lit. "This is the hall of my cousin Balin, and they call it a mine-a mine!"

Boromir halted. "This isn't a mine," he said, horrifiedly surveying the ground. "It's a tomb."

Suddenly we all looked down. I jumped, clasping to Frodo, when I saw the impaled remains of dwarves and orcs scattered about the floor. I backed away, and Frodo with me. He put a reassuring arm about my shoulders, although I was sure he was scared too (if not for the same reason I was). Gimli cried out in despair.

Legolas snapped an arrow from the web-covered ground. "Goblins," he said.

I hissed to myself, laying a hand over Frodo's chest. That was initial; I didn't mean to, but he didn't seem to care.

The others drew their weapons. "Get out of the mines!" We began to back out, the hobbits first, all five of us lined up in a row. Then, suddenly, Frodo vanished from beside me with a cry.

I whipped around. A huge marine creature with multiple, serpentine arms and a miniscule beak had wrapped a leg around Frodo and was waving him through the air, trying to beat him against the shore. I grabbed my sword and hacked at the thing, calling for help from Aragorn. The other hobbits rushed in, but Pippin and Merry were swatted back. I supposed the creature could sense the Ring and targeted Frodo as a result.

Finally I leaped onto the beast's leg and hit hard until, with a shriek, it released Frodo. I jumped out of the way, back onto the shore, and brought Frodo to his feet after I scrambled to my own.

"You all right?" I asked, lungs heaving.

He nodded—he breathed hard, but seemed to be trying to quell it.

"Back to the cave!" Aragorn called. The hobbits jumped up, Frodo and I supporting each other back into the empty, black mouth of Moria. The water creature shrieked madly, wrapping its tentacles about the shore and dragging itself up into the hole. All of its struggling, though, brought the walls of Moria crumbling down over the only way in or out.

I clutched Frodo's upper arm as the entrance smashed to pieces, blocking the light from coming in.

"You will want to stay close," Gandalf said, lighting his staff again. "There are worse things than orcs in the shadows of the great deep. It is four days' journey to the other side."

We walked almost single file most of the time, although there were times when the shadows seemed to shift . . . and the edge was far too close. I shuddered and drew my cloak around me. Frodo somehow noticed, and brought me up to stand on the opposite side of him from the edge.

Gandalf revealed the presence of mithril in the mines. When he mentioned the coat of mithril granted Bilbo (and Gimli proclaimed it a kingly gift), Frodo glanced at the ground, looking a little self-conscious. "Do you have it?" I asked.

He nodded.

"On?"

He nodded again.

"Would you show me sometime?" I asked. "What you look like with it on, I mean."

He smiled slightly and nodded a third time. "I suppose you never got to see."

"Poor Bilbo," I responded, thinking back to Rivendell.

Then came a steep, tall stair, meant not for hobbit legs, or so it seemed. We had to climb it with our hands and feet, and I went right behind Frodo, hoping I could at least help from behind. I heard Pippin slip behind me, and Merry reprimand him, probably frightened something could happen.

When we got to the top, my heart sank at Gandalf's words.

"I have no memory of this place."

There were four ways to go.

Frodo didn't want to read much. I understood; I wouldn't either. But he asked me to tell him a story of sorts, and so I wove a tale I would have much liked to live. I kept it close to my own biography for the first while, but then changed it, once I had gotten ahead to what I did not know would or wouldn't take place.

Then Frodo spotted something.

"Sev!" His eyes widened. "There's something down there."

I glanced down. There was a ghastly, frail shape climbing the walls of Moria like a spider.

"Gollum," Gandalf said from behind us. "He's been following us since we entered Moria." He spoke of the creature's attachment to the Ring, and how he was once called Smeagol . . . that his life was a tragic story.

"It's a pity Bilbo didn't kill him when he had the chance," Frodo said bitterly. I lifted an eyebrow.

"Pity? It was pity that stayed his hand!" Gandalf said. "Some things that deserve to die live, and some things that die deserve to live. Don't be so quick to deal judgment of that nature."

Frodo sighed, obviously a little chastised but not willing to challenge the truth in Gandalf's words.

"I wish the Ring had never come to me," he said. "I wish none of this had happened."

My breath caught, and at a nod from Gandalf, I sidled up to him and rubbed his shoulder gently. He subconsciously laid a hand over mine, swallowing, but he didn't lift his gaze.

"So do all who live to see such times," Gandalf assured, "but that is not for them to decide."

I felt like I knew where Gandalf was going, and so I picked it up. "The only decision left to you is what to do with the opportunities you've been given." I glanced at Gandalf for assurance, and he nodded back to me. I felt that truth radiate through my body; I didn't want to be the only one of my kind, incapable of having a family and incapable of being one like Frodo. And yet that decision, that choice to protect Frodo, was the only good thing that had ever really happened to me.

I squeezed Frodo's shoulders. I didn't want to lose him, if he truly was the light in my life.

"And you've made the right decision," I whispered. "Saving the world like some knight on a quest." I ruffled his hair. He smiled a little.

Then Gandalf said something about Frodo being _meant_ to have the Ring. My eyes narrowed at that. So no one else could have taken it; but I hoped that didn't mean Frodo was resigned to a fate he couldn't want to have. I hoped he felt good about saving the world, because that lay on his shoulders now.

"Ah!" Gandalf said, grabbing his hat and staff. "I believe this is the way out." He aimed for the southernmost tunnel . . . or so I assumed. I had lost my sense of direction completely in this labyrinth of caverns.

Merry's face brightened. "Ah, so he's remembered!"

"No," Gandalf said, "but the air isn't so foul down here." We all followed him, ready to get out of this death trap. I released Frodo for a little while, thinking I was probably being just a little overprotective for the moment. Resultantly I sank to the back of the group.

We passed a door where light filtered in from a window. Gimli spotted it, then gasped in disbelief. He sprang at the wooden door that had been cranked, splintered, left open.

"Gimli!" Gandalf shouted.

Gimli ignored him, racing through the open door to a stone tomb in the middle of a room. There were corpses here as well, obviously somewhat old. The tomb spoke of a Balin, Lord of Moria. Gandalf thrust his hat and staff into Pippin's hands and lifted a book from underneath the skeletal hand of one of the dwarves.

He flipped to the back of the book, which plumed with dust and shed pages at his touch. "They have taken the bridge," he read. "We cannot get out. Drums . . . the sound of drums, everywhere. We cannot get out." His face was grave. "They are coming."

Moments later, all eyes turned to Pippin. Next to him was a well, which a corpse had just toppled down, and a chain followed it with loud clanking. A metal bucket creaked and banged after it, echoing through the mines. With every rebound, Pippin winced.

Gandalf slammed the book shut and snatched his hat and staff back. "Next time throw yourself down and rid us of your foolishness!" he snapped. Pippin looked hurt, and I reached forward to help, but then the sound of drums echoed through the air.

All gazes drifted to the door. Legolas and Boromir sprang forward, slamming the doors and lifting a series of spears and wooden boards to bar it off. Then they backed away, all drawing swords and pulling up bows. Gimli ground out on the top of the tomb, grunting and urging them to come in.

The moment one of the first orcs was in sight, Legolas shot it, and that delayed them, a little bit. It only took a few minutes of pounding for an army of orcs, accompanied by a cave troll, to rage through the doors, smashing them down. Merry and Pippin weren't overall too efficient with their swords, and resorted to throwing rocks and tackling orcs. Sam used his frying pan, "getting the hang of it" rather quickly.

Frodo and I dashed behind a column when the cave troll focused his attention on the former. I tried to attract the troll's attention away from him, but somehow creatures seemed to recognize that Frodo had the Ring, or something, because I could not deter it. Finally I leaped up with Frodo, and turned to stab the troll in the eye. But it had circled the column to face Frodo, and it threw him to the ground. It was a twenty foot drop, and I cried out, leaping from the balcony on which I stood. I noted, though, that he had gotten a decent cut to the beast's wrist before falling.

I raced to Frodo, who was desperately trying to fight back the troll. The creature lifted an ugly, huge spear, and immediately impaled Frodo with it. A lurch and a groan, and Frodo crumpled to the ground.

"Frodo!" I cried. The rest of the Fellowship repeated my cry, and the cave troll was quickly taken over by them. I leaped down to Frodo, trying to wrench the spear from his side. It simply would not come. I struggled, I shoved against the wall with my feet, but absolutely nothing worked. Nothing at all. I breathed hard, tugging and yanking until my hands bled inky black all over the spear shaft. My eyes stung.

"Please live, please live," I pleaded, blabbering my tongue out, even though the possibility of his survival wasn't even calculable anymore.

Aragorn came over to help me, and we lifted Frodo off of his stomach. He gasped, hyperventilating until his system flourished again.

"He's alive!" Sam cried. I grabbed the spear and yanked it away, but it slipped out easily, and no blood or flesh came with it. The poison in my bloodstream didn't react much, just pulsed as it often did in the presence of a bruise.

Aragorn looked just a little shocked. "That spear should have impaled a wild boar," he said.

"I think there's more to this hobbit than meets the eye," Gandalf said with a twinkle in his visage. _Mithril_ , I thought as Frodo pulled his shirt away to reveal a glimmering layer of bright, silver-ish metal. I leaned over and touched it; it was warm and smooth against my fingers.

"Mithril," Gimli said in awe.

"We must be gone," Gandalf said, turning to go. I grabbed Frodo's wrist and helped him to his feet. I bit my lip, then embraced him hard.

"Frodo, you're alive!"

He held me back, obviously still dizzied.

"Yes, Sev."

It was all I could do not to explode in a show of affection to remain where I was. Frodo was alive, and I was holding him; he was fine. Minutes later, however, I had to pull away, and Frodo and I raced after the others. Aragorn had kept them going, and the creatures outside subsequently followed them; for that I was extremely grateful. Frodo was safer here, but not for long.

No sooner had we begun racing through the halls of endless columns that goblins began swarming us, from the tops of the raftered ceilings, down the shafted columns, and surrounding us in a circle. We were prepared to hold them off. I grabbed Frodo's hand, wielding my sword.

But immediately the goblins began to scatter. We all paused, and a great tremor shook the ground. In a cavern to our right, a bright flame emerged, licking the sides of the door.

"Run!" Gandalf shouted, and we all turned and began to spring away. I glanced behind long enough to see a demon, menacing and draconic, pursuing us. Fire surrounded him as he bounded after us, racing through the halls and filling the air with dense smoke.

"The bridge is near," Gandalf said to Aragorn, ushering all of us forward. We came to a thin staircase, which had a huge breach right in the middle. Legolas leaped across first, followed by Gandalf, Merry, Pippin, Boromir, Gimli (who insisted that "nobody tosses a dwarf!"), and Sam. Arrows arced through the air, and Legolas returned fire. I refused to go across before Frodo, and threw Aragorn first. He probably didn't think I had the strength to do it, but I did; he stumbled, surprised, when he reached the other side. I shook my wrist. He'd been dropping his weight, and now my arms hurt. I was about to get Frodo across when the stairs began to crack, and steps crumbled from in front of us. We scrambled back to keep from plummeting with the stone, and when I looked up, the gap was too large to jump. Well, I gathered I could at least get him across, which was all that was necessary.

I heard the demon behind us, slamming against the doorway where we had come in. Stones fell from the ceiling in boulders, crushing the stairway behind us and throwing off my balance before I could help Frodo. The entire staircase wobbled uncertainly, and I grabbed onto Frodo as the section of stairway began to collapse forward.

I jumped with him at the last second, but the momentum threw us apart, and Legolas grabbed Frodo; Aragorn grabbed me.

Why we'd sent the Ringbearer across last, I had no idea. I resolved never to let that happen again.

The staircase completely collapsed behind us, crashing into the fiery chasm below. The demon pursued us, and so we raced faster. He finally came in to view, chasing us to the thin, fragile bridge. I made sure Frodo was in front this time, and had all the others cross before I would. But Gandalf ushered me on ahead; I was stubborn enough to insist that I stay behind until he leaned close.

"Frodo needs you."

I dashed away, and up the stairs to join the others on the landing. We were almost out of Moria; I could see cold sunlight pouring down a nearby staircase.

Frodo stopped, and so did I, looking back at Gandalf. He stood in the middle of the bridge, and the demon had reached the edge. He roared angrily.

"You cannot pass!" Gandalf chanted something about demons and flames, something I assumed was powerful. He held up his staff, which glowed with a brilliant light. The demon drew a sword and brought it crashing down on Gandalf. With a great cry, Gandalf thrust against it, and the sword shattered into a million pieces.

The demon roared again, flames crackling and flaring about him. He fashioned a whip, and it cracked dangerously against the air.

"Gandalf!" I called out.

"You shall not pass!" Gandalf shouted. The words echoed about the darkness below when he cracked his staff against the bridge. In defiance the demon stepped forward, but the bridge collapsed with his weight, crumbling at Gandalf's feet. With a vicious roar the demon tumbled into the blackness.

Satisfied and grim, Gandalf turned away from the ledge . . . only to have the forked whip snap back up after him, curl around his ankle, and drag him back down. His staff tumbled away, and he collapsed until he could only hold on with his hands to the edge.

I sprang away from Frodo's side and to the bridge. When I fleetingly glanced behind me, I realized Frodo had began to run as well, but Boromir wrapped a strong hand around his torso. I cried for Boromir to let him go, that Gandalf needed help.

I turned to help the wizard myself, but Frodo's protest stopped me. I shifted my attention back to Boromir, and grabbed Frodo's shoulder to help him in his struggle.

"Gandalf!" His voice strained, anxious and hopeless.

Gandalf stared at the hobbit. Frodo's heart thrummed painfully fast beneath my fingers.

"Fly, you fools!" Gandalf said, releasing the edge and tumbling.

Frodo's heartwrenching cry echoed my own heart.

"No!"

After the awful crushing of frozen time had begun to pass, Aragorn grabbed me, hefted me onto his shoulder, and dragged me out after Boromir. I took an arrow to the upper arm, and black blood trickled down my shoulder to my elbow. I cared not; it did not hurt, it only exhausted.


	11. Darkness and Light in Lorien

I was nearly unconscious when we reached the open air. I hid myself, snapped the arrow out, and wrapped my upper arm with a white cloth. When I reemerged, Merry was sobbing and consoling a broken Pippin. Sam had buried his face in his hands.

Gimli, Legolas, and Boromir were mourning as well, although not so snapped as the hobbits.

I finally spotted Frodo. He was walking away. I followed him.

"Frodo?" I asked when I caught up to him.

He turned to me, his face ghastly and his expression wounded. Tears trickled down his face. My eyes pricked, and I wrapped my arms around him. Although I never would have guessed his reaction, he did the same, sniffling a little.

I buried a hand in his hair, rubbing in small circles. There were no words that could be said. The pain Frodo must have felt; I couldn't imagine. I laid my ear against his chest, hearing the slowing echo of his pulse. Despair was setting in.

"Boromir, get them out."

"Give them a moment, for pity's sake!"

I kept an arm around Frodo's waist and walked him a little farther away. Still I said nothing. Nothing could be said.

"By nightfall these hills will be swarming with orcs," Aragorn insisted. "We must be to the woods of Lorien. Legolas, get them out." A minute later he looked around. I could see him, and I was staring dangerously.

"Frod-," Aragorn paused. He approached me a moment later, and I left Frodo to talk to him. I growled just a little.

"Sev," he said, laying a hand on my shoulder, "the best thing you can do for Frodo is get him to Lorien. He'll die if he remains here, and that will do none of us good."

I nodded assertively, and Aragorn turned away.

Frodo followed without complaint, but I was sure there was something deeper . . . something I couldn't quite grasp or counteract.

"There was nothing you could have done," I said finally.

Frodo glanced down at me.

"If anything, it was my fault." I looked over at him. His eyes were pained. I wanted to brush the pain from them. "I was going to save him, but . . ."

Frodo squeezed my shoulders. "But you were helping me first. Gandalf would have fallen."

"So that's not-," I stopped. He didn't need to know I was digging in to his psyche.

"So that's not what?"

I shook my head. "I thought you were blaming yourself." I crinkled my nose. "I'm glad you weren't, though." Then I paused. "Gandalf did not die without reason, Frodo. He loves you every bit as much as the rest of us," (that was a lie: I knew Frodo better than anyone, and hoped I loved him more—I was willing to sacrifice everything) "and did it to keep you safe."

Frodo sighed and rested his head on my shoulder. I felt him relax a little; I'd hit the mark. All I needed to do, then, was try and coax that misery right out of him. If I let despair conquer him, he'd never come back. I couldn't imagine that . . . Frodo, gone forever because he let Gandalf's death eat away at him.

Seeing as how many psychological and physical things were eating away at him, it wouldn't surprise me the next time one came up.

Soon, however, we had to increase our pace, and were soon safe within the trees of Lorien. Once we were inside, Gimli stopped Frodo. I halted as well.

"Keep a wary eye, hobbits!" Gimli hissed. "They say an elf enchantress lives in these woods. Any that see her fall under her spell, and none ever return!"

A female voice hissed through my mind.

 _You are a great evil, Seville . . . of a distant land. You are not a hobbit. You do not bear evil . . . you live it. You are coming to us, young one._

My eyes narrowed and a growl built in my throat.

"Sev?"

I glanced up at Frodo. I shook my head.

"Nothing," I said. He glanced at the ground. I laced my hand through his; my pulse rose as our fingers slipped into place, interlocked. He stared down at them. "I promise," I said, "it is nothing of importance, Frodo. Don't trouble yourself with anything more." Then I paused. "Particularly not with Gandalf. We'll see him again."

"What do you mean?"

I shrugged. "When we follow him. Won't it be wonderful, then? Cares will be past, and the blackness of this world will fall away." Frodo sank into my words; I felt it. His hand was gentle and a little soft, actually. I couldn't imagine the Ring tainting it. "Peace forever . . . alone with those we hold dear."

Frodo nodded contentedly.

"It sounds wonderful, Sev," he said, grasping that description a little more wistfully than I would have hoped.

"But I won't fall under her spell!" Gimli was insisting. "I have the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a fox!" Then he gasped.

I glanced up and found an arrowtip to my nose, and one to Frodo's. Had it not been held by a possibly friendly, good-natured elf I would have tried to hack the offender's hand off. I did, however, pull Frodo away from the arrowtip just a little.

An elf that appeared to be leading the group that surrounded us walked up to Gimli. "The dwarf is so loud we could have shot him in the dark."

Gimli humphed at that, and we were led by the archer captain to the elf city in the heart of Lorien. For the most part we were blindfolded, until we reached a tree surrounded by the floral, graceful, white architecture of the elves. We were directed to the top, after climbing flight upon flight of white, wooden stairs.

The elf leader and Aragorn spoke to each other in Elvish for a moment, acknowledging each other, as well as Legolas. Gimli protested lack of courtesy, but proceeded to swear darkly at the elves. I winced at his words.

"That was not so courteous," Aragorn reprimanded.

"You bring great evil here," was all I could catch of what the elf next said. I saw his eyes flicker to Frodo, then rest on me. He darkened his gaze a little, and it did not leave me. "You cannot travel through here. You must turn back."

Before Aragorn could take him aside, I stepped forward. "Captain, I mean no disrespect," I said, "but the evil I bear is of no harm to you."

The entire Fellowship glanced at me with wide eyes. But I was expecting that. "I have controlled my blood, insofar as many of you bear injuries I would drain," I said in my scattered Elvish, "and have refused the evil that would follow me." I straightened. "On my behalf, rest assured, you can permit this company passage through your woods. Throw me out if you will, but I am obligated to help the Ringbearer in his journey and will protect him despite my circumstances."

The elf nodded skeptically, but Aragorn took him aside regardless.

Legolas cocked his head at me. "Evil? In your blood?"

I nodded, glancing at the ground. "I have told many, Legolas, I am not a hobbit."

Legolas frowned. "Then what are you, if not a hobbit?"

I shook my head. "I do not know. I only know that the hobbits have been kind enough to me that I would be honored to be called one of them." I looked over at Frodo, who was watching me carefully. I noticed then that he had a book tucked under his arm, one that looked remarkably like my journal, the one that contained my darker history and my darker history alone. Then I noticed that there was a latch on it that hadn't been on my own and dismissed the idea. I wondered where he had got it from.

The voice in my head again . . . I could hear it. And I could see a flash of beautiful, hard blue eyes.

 _Your very blood is a danger. You guard that who bears wickedness._

 _Give him a break,_ I mumbled to myself. I hoped the voice could hear it.

 _You are bold, halfling. You are coming to us._

Soon the elf told us to follow him. We traveled through the woods through the remainder of the night. It was cold, and the voice haunted me. I wrapped my cloak around my shoulders, shivering with anxiety.

I didn't think Frodo had any concern left in him; he couldn't afford to grant any. But all the same he gave me his cloak. I eyed it warily.

"Frodo, don't tell me you're not cold either," I said. "I thank you, but . . . really, you can't afford it."

He slipped his cloak over my neck and wrapped his arms around me.

"No, I'm not cold," he said. And he was right.

I sighed. "Thank you." I immediately began to warm. I could feel my own heart hammering against the areas of pressure where his hands laid.

Soon dawn approached, and he stepped back only a little. I let his cloak back over his head, and we kept walking. I felt my cheek; it was fiery. Dang it.

When I looked up, there was a great tree in the midst of Lorien. Loth-Lorien, they called it. I felt the enchantress drawing near. She breathed life, and it scarred what little poison was left in me. Willation told me the poison could be changed, remedied, but did not explain how. I wondered if she could help, if she could halt the pain.

We were brought to Celeborn and Lady Galadriel; those crystal eyes I recognized. The pains vaulted over me, and my hands convulsed. I shrank away when I saw the Lady—she was glowing with a brilliance that seared into my eyes.

I resented myself then: I was so dark the light hurt.

They spoke of Gandalf . . . and how we had lost him in Moria. Galadriel seemed to know more than most. I had not felt him die, as I felt something die and was overwhelmed by a passion to restore it for my own sake. But he was not dead . . . or so I had considered and dismissed.

She knew. She knew what had happened.

I didn't, and that bothered me.

She greeted us all, then turned to Frodo. Based on his expression, she was speaking to him as well. Then she turned to me.

 _Welcome, Seville of Lavwu. You would guard him to the death. You may have to._

My ears flattened.

 _Indeed I may._

We were quickly and easily situated in the heart of a tree. As we were unpacking and preparing to sleep, I approached Frodo about Galadriel speaking to him.

His brow furrowed. "How did you know?"

I put a hand on his shoulder. "She spoke to me, too, in the woods and here."

Frodo's eyes widened, and he nodded.

Then a chorus of sweet, somber Elvish voices filled the air. Legolas straightened. "They are commemorating Gandalf," he said gently.

"What are they saying?" Pippin asked.

Legolas faltered. "I haven't the heart to tell you," to which Sam replied, "They ought to have a verse about fireworks." He paused, then stood abruptly. "The finest ever seen! Sparks in blue, red, and green . . . they came in fiery showers, and looked like . . . flowers, oh, that doesn't do them justice." Defeated in his poetry, he sat back down and laid in bed.

Aragorn was trying to console Boromir to rest, but Boromir would not have it. I made sure, however, that all were rested before I slipped out of bed and raced back up the stairs. I had to talk to Galadriel. Maybe she could take this burden from Frodo. I stroked his cheek before I left; he looked so tense.

The moment I had ascended one turn, however, Galadriel swiftly glided down the steps toward me. She did not look surprised to see me, and in fact only let a hint of a glance in my eyes before looking back at her feet.

"Can you take the Ring?" I demanded.

Galadriel swept past me, and I followed.

"It's so hard for him," I continued—I raced to keep up with her long, graceful strides—"and it's hard enough to watch him carry it every single day, harder still not to be able to do anything about it."

Galadriel nodded. "You cannot bear it."

I shook my head. "Well, it's on a chain now; I'm certain I could carry it."

Galadriel paused. "No. Frodo is meant to have it."

"What is this about 'meant' to?" I cried. "Gandalf spoke of it, too. Frodo cannot be left alone to do this. My lady, I can help him. What if I was meant to carry it too, hmm? What if I could help him?"

She seemed slightly amused at my impertinence. "If Frodo cannot find a way, no one will." She hesitated again. "Although . . . there is one decision that I once thought would be made for certain that you can change."

I swallowed.

"His end. You could change it, Seville . . . I do not see everything there for the both of you." She continued on, sweeping past the tree where the Fellowship rested. "Your decisions, though, may determine the outcome."

"Even if I weren't involved, I still think he should be given the chance to decide his own fate," I said.

"He made that decision," she replied. "He chose to bear the Ring."

I walked faster. "He was hardly given an option! He is the only one brave and powerless enough to bear that cursed, shameful Ring, and you say there is nothing on this earth that can change the misery and pain that will befall him because he was corralled into carrying this burden."

Galadriel nodded.

I shook my head, frustrated. I hoped that, by laying it out, it would convince her it wasn't fair for Frodo to carry the thing. "There has to be a way."

"Can you heal the heart that has lost its pieces?" She turned to me. We were descending a black, stone staircase, and I nearly slipped off with the severity of the sudden halt. "Can you understand pain that one carries every day without fail, and adapt that as a lifestyle?"

I did not tell her that was my life. She need not know, I decided. I was being argumentative and defensive enough. I bit my tongue and followed her down the stairs.

Only then did I realize Frodo had been following us, if not at a distance. Galadriel waved me aside, picked a silver pitcher from the stone, and turned to face Frodo.

"Will you look into the mirror?" she asked.

Frodo glanced at me, then Galadriel. "What will I see?" he asked carefully.

Galadriel's face became darkly playful. "Even the wisest cannot tell," she said. "The mirror shows many things . . ." She allowed the pitcher to empty inside a central well. "Things that are . . . things that were . . . and some things that have not yet come to pass."

Frodo glanced at her cautiously, then stared at me. I carefully joined him, and he stepped up to look inside. I supposed he didn't see anything, because he looked at Galadriel as though there was something more. She didn't move, and he looked back.

From my vantage point, nothing was clear, but I could see flat images, passings of the Fellowship, of the Shire . . . and then the world in flames. Frodo began to gasp, shaking. I could see a great, fiery Eye, and the Ring slipped out of Frodo's shirt, trying to reach for the well. Frodo grabbed the Ring and threw himself backwards. I leaped behind him and caught him as he fell. I took most of his momentum, but still collapsed. So did he.

"I know what it is you saw," Galadriel said. Frodo helped me to my feet, and we both faced her. "For it is also in my mind."

I couldn't imagine how terrifying it was for them.

 _It is what shall come to pass if you should fail,_ she said. I realized she was only talking to Frodo, but that I could hear the same mental track.

Frodo swallowed. _If you would have me do it, I will give you the One Ring._ He pulled it from his neck, and it laid, bright and open, in his palm. I hissed to myself, both at the Ring and my initial need to take it.

"You offer it to me freely."

He stood his ground.

Galadriel's eyes widened, and she stretched out her hand, advancing toward Frodo. I growled and kept a hand on my knife; Frodo did not back down. "I admit my heart has greatly desired this," she said. "Instead of a Dark Lord, _you should have a queen!"_ Suddenly she flared into inverse colors; her dress fluttered, and her hair flew. _"Not dark, but beautiful and terrible as the dawn! All would love me and despair!"_

Frodo did not move, just held the Ring, terrified.

Galadriel staggered back to herself. "I've passed the test," she breathed. Then she turned away. "I will diminish, and go into the West . . . and remain Galadriel."

Frodo confided in her that he didn't want to do this alone. I reached for his hand, but Galadriel held up her own.

"To be a Ringbearer is to be alone," she said firmly, eyeing me. I backed away, eyes narrowed. Then she rolled her hand slightly to reveal a pearl-white, very ornate ring. She said it was the Ring of Adamant. "And I am its keeper."

Frodo glanced at the ground. "I know what I have to do . . ." he said, then looked at me, his eyes sorrowed. "It's just, I'm afraid to do it."

I looked at the ground this time. Galadriel had told me there was nothing I could do, but I was sure I could do something. She had told me I could change his end. Whether that meant the lesser of two evils, I did not know, but I would certainly choose the lesser if I had any say in it.

Galadriel bent down to Frodo. "Even the smallest person can change the course of the future."

If she was right in everything, then I could definitely change his.

Galadriel soon sent Frodo back to rest, and he looked back to see if I would come. I told him I would be along, and he ascended the stairs before waiting.

I turned back to Galadriel.

"This Ringbearer is not alone," I said. "I don't know if you would believe me, but I know pain. I live pain, Lady Galadriel, and I understand living every day with a power so great and terrible you want to throw yourself into the sea for it." I lifted my chin. I sounded cliché, but relished in ranting. "If that is not what Frodo suffers from now, I beg you to tell me that my cause is hopeless."

Galadriel bent down to me this time . . . but she searched my eyes. "You do know pain, Seville," she said, her tone changed. "He will still desire peace. Bring him peace, and he shall be helped."

I bowed. "I thank you, Lady Galadriel."

"But you cannot know the burden of the Ring until you carry it. It is not more intense than your own will be at watching Frodo suffer, but it is different. He is still somehow alone."

"In that case, we all are," I said, bowing again and mounting the stairs to join Frodo.

I laid him in his cloak and sat on the rock right above him. He glanced up at me.

"Sev?" he asked.

I looked down. His eyes were bright and wide, his brows knit together in pain.

"You would really bear the Ring for me?"

I nodded. He seemed only a little satisfied with that, and rolled back under his cloak. His breathing did not grow easy for some time, and until it did, I didn't dare leap down from my perch to finger his hair just a little.

I never knew when the last moment was I would see him, or be able to touch him before he drifted away completely. Galadriel was ascending the stairs, and I watched her. I wouldn't let him go through this pain isolated. He would always have me if he wanted help.


	12. Until I Met You

**Short chapter! :)**

The next day we had to set out. Apparently we were being tracked by warriors of Saruman, and would have to keep to the river until we reached the Eastern Shore of a great lake. I didn't catch all of the details, but I knew generally where we were going.

Galadriel presented us each with gifts before we left. To Legolas, a bow of the Galadriel; to Aragorn, she gave her blessing, to be fair (she said he already bore Arwen's immortality, a gift more powerful than she could offer); to Gimli, three of her hairs (I loaned her my knife for that, and a trinket box I had brought); to Pippin and Merry, fine Elvish daggers; to Sam and I, Elvish rope, and she gave me a throwing knife as well, designated to hit its target when thrown with a worthy goal.

Frodo allowed me to be there as Galadriel presented him with his gift, the light from Earendil, the Elves' most beloved star. Galadriel kissed him lightly on the top of the head. I swallowed at that.

"Let it be a light to you when all other lights have gone out," she said. Then she glanced at me.

Frodo did as well. "All of them?"

Galadriel nodded, growing somber. "All of them indeed will. Although . . . there is hope left."

I felt I understood . . . but I wasn't sure. I bowed to Lady Galadriel, and she bestowed a kiss on the top of my head as well. I was glad it was light; I was very sensitive about that sort of thing.

We set out in canoes then. Legolas, Gimli, and Sam went in one, Aragorn, Frodo, and I in another, and Pippin with Merry and Boromir in the last. When Aragorn was tired of rowing, I took over.

That night we pulled our canoes to shore. I had seen awful orcs bearing the White Hand of Saruman to our left bank, and so had Aragorn. I heard them arguing about taking the road to Minas Tirith, as opposed to through the marshes.

"I will not lead the Ring within a hundred leagues of your city," Aragorn snapped, and that ended the discussion. I had, however, gained a new view of Boromir; he wanted to be strong. He wanted to help.

I also heard Sam and Frodo talking. Sam knelt at Frodo's side.

"Mr. Frodo, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, Sam," he said in that defeated tone of his. My eyes pricked, and for once in my life I felt a hint of a tear ready to slide down over the bridge of my nose. I was laying on my side.

"I know something's wrong," Sam insisted. "You haven't eaten much, and you aren't sleeping! Please, Mr. Frodo-I want to help!"

I moved to see Frodo. His expression was dark and pained.

"You can't help me this time, Sam."

Dismal and brokenhearted, Sam moved away and slipped into his cloak. Frodo remained sitting up, hands wrapped around his knees. I rolled back over.

"Sev?"

"You don't need help?" I asked, swallowing a choke.

He sighed. "No. I just know Sam can't help me. And there was no other way to tell him."

I rolled back over. "You would deny him the ability to help?"

He shook his head. "He can't, Sev. You must see that."

I did see. But I wondered if he was waiting for something . . . expecting those who could help to.

And why wouldn't they?

When Frodo tapped the empty ground beside him, I got up and crouched, walking over to him in a compacted position. I slipped my new cloak around my shoulders and sidled up next to him. "He can't . . . but if he could, would you let him?"

Frodo sighed and sank a little. "Of course I would. I would love it if he could help. But you heard Galadriel."

I nodded.

"And I heard you."

I glanced up.

"You said you knew pain, Sev," he said. "More than I ever could. And Lady Galadriel told me you could help, that you could actually . . . well . . . understand."

I laid my head on his shoulder, internally begging him to throw his problems on me.

But he didn't. I grimaced at that a little. So I decided I would say something.

"Fighting for something you don't entirely understand . . . that needs to be done but somehow doesn't really add up to the pain it causes you. Something that is mandatory, a duty you have that you can't uphold because you don't believe in it. All right, so you believe in it, but not its benefits."

Frodo said nothing. I hoped he was falling asleep. Sam was right; he hadn't gotten any recently.

"Every day hacks away at your heart because where you are going will save all but yourself," I continued, more ranting than empathizing at this point. "You don't see what's worth fighting for because everything huge is fighting against you, and you live with the pain. No one understands; no one gets it! Everyone around you says, 'I know the pain. I can help. Just keep going; you can make it.' And you take what you can get, but really, no one suffers so much. No one wants every day to end just so the next one can end too."

Then I stopped.

"I'm sorry," I said.

*Frodo was swaying a little. "Sev . . . that's it." He sighed and kissed me deeply on the forehead.

"I'm never getting any sleep out here," I said, imitating Sam as best I could. "Anywhere I lie, there's a great dirty root sticking into my back."

Frodo smiled and laid down. I covered him with his cloak. "Just imagine your back in an Elvish bed, with an angelic mattress, and ten lovely feather pillows," he said, stifling a chuckle.

I laughed. "Good night." Then I paused and rubbed his shoulder. "I know it's hard, Frodo. Hard to wake up, hard to have a night's rest because the next day will be hard anyway. And a lifetime looks impossible, but I promise things look up. I promise."

He rolled back over. "What do you mean?"

I shrugged. "That pain I was talking about . . . it comes and goes, in huge periods of time . . . it fluctuates." I turned to go to bed as well. "It helps to have someone that understands."

He paused. "Did you ever give up on life?"

"A thousand times." I slid into my cloak and waited until he was almost asleep. The minutes were agonizing as they dragged by, waiting for me to say what I had to say. Then I added in a whisper, "Until I met you."

I could only hope in the deepest, darkest corners of my mind that I could become the same for him . . . that I could save his life.


	13. I'll Never Leave You

The next day was not clear. The sky was a light gray, but we set out anyway. We would cross the Eastern shore and continue on foot, Aragorn said once we landed again.

I didn't hear any more. Frodo and Boromir had disappeared, and no one else had noticed. Gimli was ranting about the journey, but I ran off. I didn't have time for them to bicker.

I heard Boromir. "I know why you seek solitude," he said.

Frodo was shaking his head.

"I could not find Sev," he said. Then I remembered; I, like Boromir, had gone to find wood as soon as we landed, in the hopes that I could keep Frodo warm that night. He'd been cold the night before; I knew because I rustled him awake, and my hand had touched his neck. He was freezing.

Boromir shrugged. "But the others . . . you are pained every day. I see it growing. Maybe there's another way."

"This is the only way," Frodo insisted.

Boromir continued to argue his case, to say that the Ring could be used for good.

"It would seem like wisdom but for the warning in my heart," Frodo said cautiously. _Yeah, Frodo!_ I cheered to myself. I don't know why I didn't emerge then.

"What warning?" Then Boromir's tone rose. "I only ask for the chance to save my people!" He viciously threw his pile of wood down on the ground.

"You are not yourself," Frodo said, backing away.

I leaped out then. "Frodo!"

He turned to me. "Sev!"

It was about then that Boromir began to chase him, threatening to take the Ring, and threatening that Sauron would if he didn't. Frodo protested, running away, but Boromir was faster, quickly overtaking him.

I grabbed my throwing knife, launching at Boromir. Apparently the goal was not worthy enough; it skittered away from his fingers and shot into the piles of leaves. I grabbed him around the waist, trying to wrench him off of Frodo. The latter slipped the Ring on his finger and smacked Boromir in the face before running off.

Boromir threw me from his back, slamming me into the trunk of a tree. The wind slapped out of my system, and I crumpled to the ground.

Boromir's voice was fuzzy in my ears. "You would take the Ring to Sauron?!" he cried, his voice ringing through the forest. "Curse you! Curse you, curse you to-!"

"Boromir!" I wheezed. That would only frighten Frodo away.

Boromir whipped around to face me and slipped in the frictionless leaves. Once he collided with the ground, he seemed to come back to his senses. He gasped, breathlessly looking around.

"Seville," he said, his voice turning to somewhat of a whimper, "what have I done?" Then he turned to the woods as I tried to inhale and get my breath back. "Frodo!" he called, over and over again, more pained and sobbing each time.

I struggled to my feet. "There's no time. I'll go get him."

"Please," Boromir said, dragging me to a standing position, "please tell him that I'm sorry. The Ring . . . I . . ."

I nodded. "I understand, Boromir. Don't worry, I'll tell him." With that, I raced away, grimacing as my side ached and stretched.

"Frodo!" I called out, racing through the woods. "Frodo, please, where are you?! Fro-," Then I spotted them. Orcs; a hundred of them, fifty attacking Aragorn and the others racing towards Legolas and Gimli on the shore.

"Orcs! Boromir, orcs!" I cried, jumping back through the trees with my sword drawn. Boromir, Merry, and Pippin were in one place, and the other two in the other. I figured the hobbits would need my help of anybody. And . . . where was Sam?

Then I spotted him. He was with Merry and Pippin. Then I noticed they were hidden while Boromir was fighting. They were staring at something . . . I followed their gaze.

Frodo was hiding in the hull of a tree. I raced to them, and I heard Merry whisper,

"He's leaving."

Shocked, I stared back at Frodo. He was begging them not to do something . . .

They told me to stay put, then turned to the orcs. "Hey! Hey, over here! Yeah, you, over here!" Pippin and Merry turned and ran, and Frodo took off before I had the chance to look back.

"Frodo!" I hissed. Sam and I bounded into the trees, racing by two different paths with the same objective. Eventually, though, we both spotted Boromir . . . and he was impaled with three arrows.

"Boromir!" I cried, leaping away. But Sam was closer. He waved at me to go.

"Find Mr. Frodo; keep him safe!" he yelled, jumping into a fray with Pippin and Merry. Soon, though, they were swept away by the orcs.

"Sam!" Anguish swept over me, but Frodo had to be saved. I nodded assertively to myself and took off, back toward the canoes. I didn't have to run long before I spotted Frodo. He was standing by the shore, and he slipped the Ring back in his pocket. He leaped into one of the wooden canoes, grabbed an oare, and began rowing.

"Frodo!" I cried. "Frodo!" I raced down the hill, skidding with the rocks.

"No, Sev," he said quietly. He sounded so hesitant, though, I knew he was battling with himself. Or, at least, I hoped he was; I didn't need him getting killed on the way to Mordor, or resenting the fact that I'd left Sam to follow him.

I reached the shore and he hadn't turned around, so I dove right in, walking to him, sloshing through the dirty water. The benthic level dropped quickly.

"Go back, Sev!" he called. "I'm going to Mordor alone!" His voice cracked at the end.

"You wouldn't last two minutes, you devil!" I called back. "You need people of intelligence on this mission-suicidal-thing!"

"That's not encouraging," he said.

"Well, you're not supposed to go by yourself!"

"Sev, you can't swim!"

"Then come back and get me!" I was treading water unsuccessfully now. He'd made a ridiculous amount of headway, the dear devil. What was with men and their ridiculous ability to row things, or do anything that required physical strength in general? "Besides, now's a good time to lear-," A mouthful of water rushed into my throat, and I choked. The water burbled in my throat, burning and searing with friction.

"Sev!" Frodo called.

Then I slipped under.

"Sev!" His voice was strangled now.

I grasped for the light. _Get to Frodo, get to Frodo, get to Frodo!_ My brain fizzled, and my eyes drifted shut with the watery sting. The cloak dragged me down, down, down. At least I tried.

Then I felt a strong hand close around my wrist. I clasped it back, and Frodo lifted me up. I gasped for air, and he lifted me into the canoe. Once I was inside, my hair dripping wet, I rose to my knees.

"I made a promise, Frodo Baggins," I wheezed. He was staring at me, his eyes teary and his face exhausted, but somehow relieved. I could only partially see it; my hair was in the way. He swept the wet tendrils back quickly, but his hands remained at my face. "A promise! I'll never leave you, Frodo, because you never left me." I swallowed against his fingers. "I'll never leave," I repeated.

"Oh, Sev," he managed, then embraced me hard. I held him back; his arms were around my shoulders, holding relentlessly. We sat in the boat for only a moment.

"Come, Frodo," I said, grabbing an oar. We both rowed, and after only about thirty minutes or so reached the Eastern shore. I slipped out and helped Frodo mount out as well.

We spent the next hour or two hiking through wooded, dense terrain, but suddenly came out over a rocky rise. In the distance lay a barren wasteland, bland in color, and then a black, stormy land beyond the mountains.

"Mordor," Frodo said. "I hope the others find a safer road."

"Aragorn will take care of them," I said.

"I don't suppose we'll ever see them again?" he said. It was less of a question and more of an affirmation.

I shrugged. "You never know. The darkest looks most likely . . . but we may yet. Perhaps not in this life, but we will."

Frodo smiled. "Sev . . ." He laid his hand on my shoulder. "I'm glad you're with me."

With that, we set off to the Land of Mordor, where the shadows lie.


	14. Taming Smeagol

Frodo wandered to the rope. "We can't leave this for someone to follow us down."

"Like who?"

His gaze spoke volumes. Gollum, I knew, but I'd seen Gollum clambering around; he didn't need any rope. Regardless, I wished I could get it down, too.

"I guess I could climb back up, untie it, and jump back down," I suggested. Frodo eyed me balefully, and I held up my hands in surrender. "I'm kidding, I swear!" Then I glanced up at the rope. "It is a shame, though; half my gift from Lady Galadriel. But it's one of Sam's knots; if I did it right, it's not coming free anytime soon."

Frodo tugged on the rope. It began to unravel, then quickly slithered down the rocks and landed in a heap in front of me.

Frodo smiled. "Real Elvish rope." I grabbed it, inspecting it all over.

"Apparently," I replied. "Wouldn't have supported us all the way down if it were loose."

"Come, Sev," he said, and we continued on.

A few hours later, we were standing on a peak overlooking the front half of the labyrinth. Mordor was in the distance; I could see the fires of Mount Doom.

And the Great Eye.

I shivered.

The pains attacked; I stood still to stay calm.

"Mordor," I said. "The one place in Middle Earth we don't want to see any closer, the one place we're trying to get to.

"It's just where we can't get."

Frodo slowed behind me.

"Let's face it, Frodo," I said, turning. "We're lost. And I'm not sure there's much we can do about it but keep being lost. I don't think Gandalf meant for us to come this way."

I regretted mentioning Gandalf the moment I had done it. But Frodo's countenance did not fall far.

"He didn't mean for a lot of things to happen, Sev," he said. "But they did."

I nodded. Then, as Frodo was staring into the distance, my heart caught. I could see the Great Eye in my mind, and Frodo in its shadow. It was trying to take him.

When I came to, Frodo was gasping, and sat abruptly on a nearby rock.

"Frodo?"

Then I stopped.

"It's the Ring." I stepped forward. "You can see the Great Eye, can't you?"

Frodo glanced up at me. "It's getting heavy," he admitted. He winced and clutched his chest.

I laid my hand on top of his, trying to relax us both. He settled, and his hand pulled away from the Ring. I kept it; the Ring simply couldn't have him.

"Thank you, Sev," he said. I backed away; having taken the pack from Frodo earlier, I removed water from the sack and handed it to him. He hungrily took a little from it.

"What food have we got left?" he asked then.

"Well, let's see," I started sarcastically. I pulled out a leaf-bound pack. "Lembas bread," I said, setting it aside. "Oh, and look!" I pulled out another pack, eyeing Frodo with lifted eyebrows. " _More_ lembas bread." I shook my head, breaking off a square and tossing it to him. "I'm sorry, Frodo. I wish we had something else."

He chewed slowly and nodded a little.

"At least it's food, Sev," he said. Then he nodded at it. "You won't eat any?"

I shook my head. "I don't need food." But I did take a nibble out of it. It had a nice crunch to it, and the sweetness of bland bread. I cocked my head. "Usually I don't love hard food, but this isn't bad."

Frodo smiled back at me. "Nothing ever dampened your sarcasm, did it, Sev?"

I sighed, not willing to answer that. He didn't need to sympathize; he had his own problems to deal with.

He stood and walked over to me. "Sev?"

I glanced up. His eyes were lovely, and blue . . . and distressed. Oh, how I loathed that Ring for taking him.

"What?" I asked, trying to keep a light air.

Frodo sat down and put an arm around my shoulders. "Sev, what happened to you?"

"When?"

He shook his head. "There must have been a time when your good humor was taken, because you didn't say."

"I told you before," I said. "I know pain, Frodo."

Then I looked up. "Leave it to rainclouds to dampen sarcasm."

I gave him my cloak that night. I was hoping he didn't notice. Apparently he didn't, because he initially shivered and pulled tighter. The rain was pouring hard, and I loved every minute of it. I felt the drops of blessed rain washing away my troubles . . . until I remembered they were making Frodo's heavier.

I glanced over at him, and noticed that his eyes were lifted and wide. I followed them, and I caught a flash of movement over the top of the hill.

I hissed.

Frodo looked up. "Sev?"

I shook my head slowly. "Nothing that you weren't aware of yourself."

"Where's your cloak?" he asked.

I shrugged. "I'm not a hundred percent sure. I was half-asleep when I hid it." I covered his eyes with my hand; his face was wet, and I wiped off his forehead gently. "Now go to sleep before I knock you out."

Frodo buried his face in his knees. I sighed and leaned back against the rock. It took all I had to keep from wrapping my arms around his shoulders; he probably wouldn't like it.

But for about ten minutes of the darkest rain that night, I did. He was shivering like a leaf, and his nose was as cold and hard as ice. I blew on my hands, warming the poison inside. It raced, and the friction burned on my skin. I knelt down and wrapped my arms against the two cloaks; he immediately began to warm. I didn't stay for long, only a short minute, before the thickest of the rain began to fade away.

I didn't sleep the rest of the night, and somehow I imagined Frodo probably hadn't, either. However, I don't think he noticed what I had done. When we awakened and set out the next morning, we were still walking through fog and rocks.

"This place looks familiar," I said, not only because we'd been walking in it for a few weeks straight but because it really did look, well, familiar. Admittedly, I was only being half . . . all right, three-quarters of the way sarcastic.

It was lost on Frodo. I immediately regretted my attempt at humor. "That's because we've been here before," Frodo said hopelessly. "We're going in circles!"

"I'd wager there's a swamp nearby," I muttered. "Can you smell it?"

"Yes, I can smell it," Frodo said. Then he looked up at me. "We're not alone."

I nodded to assure him I was aware; Gollum was somewhere around here. Frodo told me that he'd been getting progressively closer as the weeks passed, hence seeing Gollum up on the cliff the night before. He said I ought to awaken him with some sort of signal if he was ever asleep when Gollum got close. I told him I would take my cloak back if I could sense Gollum.

That was the wrong thing to say.

"What do you mean, take your cloak back?"

I shrugged. "You're cold at night, Frodo, and the only thing I can really do about that is loan you my cloak. So I do. And I will take it back only when Gollum is nearby."

I didn't give him room to argue with that; every time he brought it up, I told him I could think of no other more obvious signal. He insisted I keep it, and I told him I would consider it.

"If I ever wake up with it, I'm giving it back," he said. "You must be cold too."

I shook my head. "Not as much as you are."

He looked suspicious of that.

I told him to pay it no mind, and when he laid down on the stone that night, I waited until he had seemed to drift off. Then I slipped my cloak over him.

"You'll do me no good frozen to death, Sev," he mumbled.

"And you're carrying a Ring of power," I shot back, crawling away. "Besides, I'm your guardian; I make the safety decisions!" I only intended it to be partially jocose. "And remember my signal."

"I spotted him earlier, and I know he's coming," Frodo said.

I laid down and closed my eyes, hoping I would spot Gollum quickly enough. No sooner had I begun to feed that half-conscious, dreamlike imagination than a warm shiver spread throughout my body. I moaned . . . that felt really good.

Then I realized it was my cloak.

"Frodo, take it back." I tried to keep the pleasure out of my voice, but was very unsuccessful.

"No, Sev."

I sat up to give it back, but Frodo was right above me. I nearly smacked into him. Frodo caught me with his hand between my shoulder blades, holding me up in my sitting position. I swallowed, and my heart raced; his face was within inches of mine.

"It will strike Gollum as unusual to see it that way," Frodo insisted. He put a hand on each of my shoulders and laid me back down. "Rest, Sev."

"You rest," I mumbled, turning over. "Devil." I tried not to react when his lips brushed my cheek.

"Thank you, Frodo." I said finally as he walked away. "It's a lot warmer." I rolled into my cloak.

"Good night, Sev," he replied. He didn't sound distressed . . . or ambivalent. I smiled to myself. It was probably nothing, but that kiss made me feel better about the decisions I'd made so far.

Frodo was home.

Then I heard a voice, hissing, menacing, and spitting.

"They're thieves! They stole it from us! We kills them!"

It grew closer: "Where is it? My Precious . . . we must gets it back, Precious . . ."

Frodo and I sprang up at the same time and each grabbed a pale, spidery limb. The creature resisted, shrieking and spitting, until Frodo and I dragged him off the ledge. Gollum hissed and threw me aside, into the rock. It cracked against my shoulder, but I ignored it. Gollum had tackled Frodo to the ground and was desperately grasping at the Ring. I grabbed Gollum's foot and dragged him off, but he kicked me back. Frodo grabbed him again, then, and Gollum turned on him once more. He flipped him over; the creature was horribly powerful for his size. I assumed it must be his conviction.

His fingers were grasping at the Ring, and I grabbed him around the waist, dragging him off of Frodo. Gollum turned on me, smacked our foreheads together, and the world spun. Then the creature chomped hard on my shoulder. I cried out and collapsed. Gollum clambered around my back, wrapped his legs around my waist, and locked his arm, crushing my neck. I sputtered and gasped; air did not come.

Then I heard the hiss of a blade, and suddenly Frodo stood over me. Sting filled my vision.

"This is Sting," Frodo said venomously. His tone frightened me, until I realized I wasn't the one being attacked. "You've seen it before, haven't you . . . Gollum?"

The creature sniffed, and I choked.

"Release her . . . or I'll cut your throat."

Slowly Gollum's arm relaxed, and I wrenched away, rubbing my neck. My blood pounded—convulsed—through the veins there, and I clenched it to quell the hard swells and shoves. Frodo grabbed Gollum's wrist, then turned back to me.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

I swallowed and nodded, unable to voice a response. I tried, but only a slight squeak/croak emerged.

"Get the rope," he said.

Gollum immediately began to wail. I cringed at the sound, and rushed for the Elvish rope. Once I'd brought it out, Frodo had to threaten Gollum again before the creature would calm down enough for me to loop a tie around his neck.

The line where Gollum had attempted to choke me burned as my blood healed the broken vessels and bones. I backed away from Gollum; now the creature terrified me.

Frodo laid the rope down and rolled a large stone over the edge, then turned to me, kneeling down close by. I shrank away, worried he might be sympathetic. We didn't have time for that.

"Are you all right?" His eyes flicked to my neck.

I assured him I was fine, but he wouldn't stop staring at my neck. I swallowed, wondering what on earth he was doing. He lifted his fingers, looking a little curious and a little pained. His fingers brushed my neck very carefully, and the pain receded a small bit. My eyes widened, and I glanced up at him. Why would he do this? Why now? It made no sense to me; my pulse raced and my mind muddled. Besides, feeling his fingers—caring and gentle as they were—anywhere near me gave me a good deal to think about. He backed away all too soon, and Gollum wailed yet again.

We weren't going to get any sleep that night, and Frodo recognized it right away; he told me we might as well press on.

Gollum wailed and shrieked the whole way, his voice growing hoarse. I wondered how long he could possibly go before he ran out of vocal cord.

A few hours into it, I could finally make out what he was saying.

"It burns! It burns us!"

Why I was the one dragging him along, I didn't know. If it had been up to me, we'd have tied his mouth shut, knocked him out with a rock, and carried him to Mordor. We couldn't let him go, and I didn't want to kill him. I would heal him, and he would live no matter what we decided.

Regardless, something came over me (pains, probably), and I abruptly turned, sharply snapping the rope, and stared hard at Gollum.

"Frodo, if this keeps up, all of Mordor is going to be drawn straight here," I said, trying to keep the malice out of my voice. "But we can't let him go; he'll kill us." I turned back. "I say we tie his mouth shut."

"No!" Gollum cried. "That would _kill_ us, kill us!"

"You'd live," I muttered. "But that's not the question."

Frodo sighed. "Maybe he deserves to die."

I shook my head, and Gollum began to wail, frantically wallowing in the dust and stone.

"But now that I see him . . . I do pity him," Frodo admitted. I supposed I could see where that came from, but as long as he was a threat to Frodo, I didn't trust him. At the moment, he was almost as immediate a problem as the Ring.

At Frodo's statement, Gollum's expression became hopeful. "We swears to do whatever he wants," Gollum said reverently, bowing. "We swears to serve the Master of the Precious." Gollum eyed the Ring, and my eyes narrowed.

"There isn't a promise you can make that I would trust," Frodo said dangerously.

"We swears to be good!" Gollum cried. "We swears on . . . on . . . on the Precious!"

"The Ring is very treacherous," Frodo warned, "and will hold you to your word."

"He could be lying, Frodo," I said, and with that Gollum leaped away, strangling himself against the rope and rolling back down on the stones.

"Sev," Frodo said, gripping my upper arm, "we have to trust him." Frodo knelt down in front of Gollum, lifting the rope from off his neck. I winced; Frodo simply continued. "You know the way to Mordor. You've been there before," Frodo said.

Gollum nodded. "Yes."

"You will lead us to the Black Gate," Frodo said firmly.

I inhaled and exhaled largely.

This was going to be interesting.

And so it was. We followed him through zipping paths, places I'd never seen before. Gollum snapped at us to hurry up. Actually, more at Frodo: "Hurry up, Master!" he said. Oooh, that bothered me . . . as though he worshipped Frodo or something. Or perhaps it was only because of the Ring.

I could hear Gollum talking to himself, something about "they can't make us!" I cracked my knuckles. Frodo eyed me warily.

". . . and orcses, thousands of orcses, and always the Great Eye, always watching us." With that, Gollum turned, hissed loudly, and vanished.

Frodo and I ran to catch up, but I shook my head. "Frodo, he's gone," I admitted.

Then Gollum's head popped back up from the rocks. "Hurry, hobbitses! Mordor is a ways away yet!" Then he slipped away again. Frodo gave me a somewhat hopeful look and walked after him. I took up the back.

Once we turned a final corner, we got a decently exciting sight.

"See? Gollum showed you out," Gollum said cheerfully. The rocks were at last ended, and a stretch of flat plain was the only barrier between us and the mountains guarding the land of Mordor.

We had only taken a few steps before my foot abruptly jolted through the ground and into a puddle of murky, algae-cluttered water.

"A swamp," I muttered. This would be exciting. But it looked land-filled enough that I didn't anticipate carrying Frodo every step of the way. Ah, unfortunate for me—probably eternities better for Frodo. I eyed him somewhat wistfully. I'd be willing to do it, but I knew men were sensitive about being touched . . . not more so than myself, but I did love Frodo, had for years.

"Yes, yes, the swamp," Gollum said. "Hurry; Gollum will take you on safe paths through the mist."

As we progressed, Gollum continued his ominous commentary. "We found it; the safe way through the marshes. Orcses don't use it; orcses don't know it. They go around, for miles and miles and miles!"

After only a little while, we stopped so Frodo could eat . . . and so Gollum could ponder his poor fortune being unable to eat. I sat off to the side until I realized I was carrying the food. I sat at Frodo's feet, and when he didn't seem to mind I didn't move.

"Haven't seen a bird since coming here," I remarked. "It's so quiet."

"No, no crunchable birdses," Gollum moaned. He delightedly scooped up a worm. I looked away. Then he was right back to whining. Frodo cocked his head, snapped off a bit of lembas, and tossed it to Gollum. "Here."

"What is it?" Gollum asked excitedly. "Is it . . . tasty?"

Very much so, but I knew he wouldn't think as much. I squeezed my eyes shut, but couldn't quite block out the cry of rage that followed.

"We cant's eat hobbit food!" Gollum shouted. He groaned, rolling about helplessly. "We starves! We wastes away!" Gollum moaned loudly.

"There's not much we can do about that," I said.

"The girl one . . . she doesn't care! She doesn't care if we're hungry . . . she doesn't care if we _die_!" Then he looked to Frodo. "Not like Master." My hackles raised, and Frodo backed away just a little as Gollum advanced. Frodo pulled at the Ring.

"Yes, Master knows. Girl-one cannot know," Gollum said. "Once it grabs on, it never lets go . . ." He reached for the Ring.

I grabbed my knife, but apparently the Ring had it covered.

"Don't touch me," Frodo snapped, and Gollum recoiled. I could see the pain, the lonely pang, in his eyes as he backed away from Frodo, digging into the marsh to settle. I couldn't imagine; I glanced up at Frodo, particularly at his eyes. Being despised by such a one had to be painful. I almost felt for Gollum in that second or two.


	15. The Black Gate

After a moment of rest, Gollum led us through patches of bog, murk, and gray, frail plants. Little spurts of fire supplied the air with a thick smoke. Soon I spotted something, clearly defined, amongst the hazy water.

"Frodo, look!" I whispered. I grabbed his shoulder. He glanced down. There was a tensely closed face, resting perfectly still, in the water.

"Dead faces," I said questioningly.

"The Dead Marshes," Gollum hissed. "Yes, that is their name. A great battle here, with men and elves and orcses. Hobbits be careful, or they join the faces and have lights of their own."

I stared at the faces. I almost imagined Frodo's among them . . . what might happen if we weren't careful. I shivered.

Then I realized I wasn't following Frodo. I turned right and left, but until I looked back I didn't see him. He was staring at the water one minute . . . and the next he had crashed through the surface.

"Frodo!" I cried. I scrambled to the shore where he had fallen in, scanning the water. I saw him, and reached out my hand . . .

The pains attacked, and so did a dark, deep desire to let him drown, then bring him out and heal him to replenish myself.

My hands thudded against my heart, and I wrenched myself away from the water, writhing and twitching. Burning, searing fire and freezing ice coursed through my bloodstream. My head throbbed with a sting every dreaded, renewedly painful beat, and my fingers convulsed.

 _Kill him. Kill him now_.

"No! Frodo!" My voice sounded doubled: I could hear a strained scream, praying he somehow survived. And I could hear a sadistic growl, one that would get rid of him itself if he managed to come up alive.

Then I heard a splash, and the pains were cut off. I gasped, swaying in place.

"Gollum?" Frodo asked incredulously. Had I might not have been so shocked I might have done something I would regret later . . . likely I couldn't keep from killing or kissing him, and in those moments I feared myself.

"Don't follow the lights," Gollum hissed, then looked up at me. I glanced back at him, too.

I managed to crouch next to Frodo. His hair was plastered to the top of his head, and he dripped with the murky water all over.

"Are you all right?" I gasped, straining to pull him to his feet.

He nodded, then eyed me curiously. "What happened?"

"You fell," I said slowly, hoping he wasn't asking what I thought he was asking.

"No," he said, waving it off, "you. You're shaking."

I shook my head vigorously. "Nothing," I insisted.

He frowned, grabbing one of my hands as he stood. "Sev, what happened?"

I sighed. "Just . . . pains. Gollum's getting ahead; we'd better catch up to him."

Frodo didn't stop watching me all day. I was glad he was worried, only because no one had ever worried about me before. But on a more practical and life-or-death level, I wanted him to stop concerning himself about problems he didn't understand.

"And you would concern yourself with the Ring that you don't understand?"

I shouldn't have asked myself out loud, but somehow part of me was curious. How could I let myself protect Frodo if I didn't let him do what he felt was best? I sighed to myself.

That night, I was rolled away from Frodo, but I knew what he was doing. I could hear his breath straggle just a little, reverencing the moment he had stroking the Ring. I'd seen him. I'd been about to give him my cloak . . . and found the Ring settled in the center of his palm. He caressed it with a finger, stared at it.

I wondered if he really actually cared for it. I backed away, biting my lip.

When I finally laid down, I could not settle. My pulse was racing, the pains biting numbly. He was succumbing.

Then I heard Gollum, and I snapped my eyes closed.

"So beautiful, so bright . . . my Precious."

"What did you say?" Frodo whispered.

"Master should rest. Master needs to save his strength," Gollum hissed.

I heard rustles as Frodo walked over to Gollum. "Who are you?"

"Mustn't ask us, not its business."

"You were one of the River-folk."

Gollum began an absentminded poem then, but I didn't catch most of it.

"He said yours was a tragic story!"

"They do not care when sun has faded or moon is dead!"

"You weren't much different from a hobbit once, were you? . . . Smeagol."

That cut it.

"What did you call me?" Gollum asked, alarmed.

"That was your name once. Smeagol," Frodo replied.

"My name," Gollum chanted reverently. "My name! Smeagol . . ."

I sighed with the sweetness of it, and Gollum stiffened.

"Girl-one does not care," he hissed. My lids lowered; I didn't know how to remedy that, really. He sympathized more with Frodo than I . . . but I couldn't see them as similar at all. Frodo had resisted the Ring as much as possible thus far; Smeagol leaped on it and had never let go. I admired—loved—one and had almost been killed by the other.

"But we don't understand her either, Smeagol."

That statement gave me hope.

"She doesn't have someone that understands. She's more alone than we are."

Suddenly I grew chilled. What did he know? I had told him little; what if someone had felt my pain? What then?

I heard more rustling as Frodo stepped toward me. His hand laid on my cheek, and his fingers roamed my face . . . filtered my hair back, traced the line of it, felt the ridge of my nose. My pupils rolled around, straining through my sudden giddiness to grab the idea that he cared for me. That maybe, just maybe, I was beautiful to someone.

Darn fickle Frodo.

What about the Ring?

Then I heard a shriek, and my eyes shot wide open. I sat up abruptly. Frodo pulled back, and we both turned to look into the sky.

Gollum shrieked.

"Nazgul!" I cried. I leaped up and grabbed Frodo's wrist. As I aimed for a bush to hide under, however, a shriek rang through the air, and Frodo groaned, crashing to the ground and clutching the Ring. I dragged him under the bush, and he scrambled to follow me. I stuffed him safely underneath.

The shriek rang out again, but this time there was a pressurized tingle on the top, one that shoved on my ears. Frodo gasped, his hand still on the Ring.

"They are calling for it," Gollum spat. "They are calling for the Precious!"

I glanced at Frodo, wondering if I dared. Well, I did.

I grabbed his hand from off the Ring and held it to my face. "It's going to be all right, Frodo," I managed. "It's all right."

He calmed eventually. I put a hand over his heart, and he quieted. The Ring was safe, and the Nazgul was gone. It had been flying a dragon; they could now get anywhere.

"I thought they were dead," I told Gollum as I pulled Frodo from underneath the bush.

"Dead? You cannot kill them!" Gollum cried. Then he took a step toward Frodo. "Come, Master; the Black Gate is near."

He was right. There was not much marsh left before the mountains suddenly loomed over our heads, and we climbed a small hill of black rock. The Black Gate lay in a niche between two monstrous peaks. It was built of sharp, slim, black metal, and spiked up in increments along the wall. It stood at least eighty feet tall, and orcs stood guard on top. There seemed to be no way past it.

"The Black Gate," I breathed. "There's no way we'll get in." Leastwise, no way Frodo would get in; I'd get kidnapped my way in if that would be the only chance to get the Ring away from Frodo.

Then a battle shout arose from below us. I turned and saw a quickly marching line of armed soldiers. A horn was blown on the top of the Black Gate, and suddenly the huge wall of metal began to crank open on one side.

"Frodo, look!" I whispered. He looked up. Then I peered over the edge. I could see a clear path of rocks we could duck behind if we decided to go down this way. I didn't see an alternative.

"I see a way down-," I started, but in standing up to scout it out, my foot caught on something immensely sharp. I recoiled, and with the sudden lack of balance I crashed onto a loose set of rocks and rolled, head over heels, down the stony hill.

"Sev!" Frodo cried. As I tumbled, I accumulated a small avalanche of rock, which clustered densely around me when I finally stopped moving. I was buried, all but my arms and head. I frantically tried to undig myself; if they discovered Frodo and took the Ring, we were all done for.

I heard stones skittering behind me as Frodo crouched from rock to rock, finding a way down.

"Frodo!" I hissed. "No, get out of here; get through the gate! I can get out on my own-,"

He shook his head. I vigorously reintensified my work, trying to shove stones away. A pair of guards had caught movement and were making their way towards us. Frodo scrambled to clear rocks away from my back, but figured that would take too long. He grabbed my arm with both hands and pulled. I only came a little of the way free.

Frodo glanced around frantically, then knelt down next to my head, spread his cloak, and wrapped it over both of us. I slipped my hands under the cloak and dug into the rocks, invoking of any powerful creature I remembered that they wouldn't see us.

I could see their feet. I could feel Frodo's chin on my cheek, his breath stilled and his pulse warm. I swallowed as they both paused, and then turned and were gone. Frodo's cloak whipped off moments later, and he finished digging me out. I grabbed his hand, and he lifted me away; soon we were only one leap away from Mordor, from destroying the Ring.

"I don't force you to come with me, Sev," Frodo said.

"But you would like me to," I affirmed.

Frodo just watched me. I saw the barest hint of a wistful nod before he turned and stared at the Gate. The army was almost all the way through.

"I doubt even these cloaks will hide us in there," I said.

He counted down, and we leaped . . . only to be dragged back by Gollum.

"Gollum, no!" I hissed. "What are you doing?" was Frodo's reaction.

"You can't! Don't take it to him!" Gollum pleaded. "He wants the Precious, and the Precious wants to go back to him! You can't take it to him!"

I leaped up to get Gollum out of the way, and Frodo sprang towards the gate. But Gollum pushed me back and grabbed Frodo. "But there is no other way," Frodo insisted. The gate was closing; we were running out of time.

"Yes! Yes there is! There is another way into Mordor!"

"Why didn't you speak of this before?" I begged.

Gollum shot me a dark glare, then turned back to Frodo. "Because Master asked him to bring us to the Black Gate, and so good Smeagol did!"

Frodo was backed up to the rock, and he nodded at Smeagol, somehow keeping his distance. "Yes, I did. If there is another way into Mordor . . . will you take us?"

Smeagol nodded. "Yes!" As if begging him not to take it in the Black Gate, which was closed now, Smeagol began pawing at Frodo's shoulder. My eyes narrowed, and a growl rose in the back of my throat. Frodo was too preoccupied with the gate to notice. Smeagol, however, turned and growled back.

"Good Smeagol always helps," he said, turning and leaping back up the slope.

I watched Frodo, shaking my head.

"We have no choice, Sev," Frodo said slowly.

I nodded. "I know. I don't trust him is all."

"Why not?" Frodo didn't wait for my response before he turned and again ascended the slope, digging his toes into the rocks and climbing that way.

My eyes slid to the ground. It was only a matter of time before Smeagol either convinced him to hand over the Ring or strangled him trying to get it.


	16. Don't Give In, Frodo

Smeagol led us from rocky hills and barren wasteland to a thin, bare forest over the next few days. I was so glad to see forest . . . and rivers . . . and something alive and beautiful. Then again, I'd been traveling with Frodo; that made me feel better than any level of lovely foliage, to see him alive and well.

Gollum began swimming down the river after a fish. At first I thought he was running away, and began to call after him, but stopped when I realized he was only going after the fish.

Frodo caught it, though.

"Why do you do that?"

I paused. "Fix my mistakes when I make them?"

He shook his head. "Suspect him, pick on him sometimes."

I shrugged. "I don't trust him, I told you that." I was going to tell him I only picked on him when I felt he was being threatening, and there were moments when Frodo had done no better, but I left that alone. "He is a threat to you, and wants the Ring, Frodo. I can't let that pass."

Frodo looked at the ground. "You don't know what it did to him . . . what it's still doing to him."

"Or what it's doing to you," I said. He stopped. "I've seen you. You've stopped eating, and you used to love sleep, and now it's gone. Frodo, that's not a good sign. I've been there."

Frodo glanced away. I lifted his chin with my finger, turned him to face me. My fingers against his face forced the words back into my throat until I found them again.

"I have my reasons not to trust him. You have your reasons to be kind. I understand, I promise." Then I paused. "Although . . . why let him get to you? You have to be on your guard, Frodo."

"I have to believe he can come back," he said, turning away.

I understood, but I still had one curiosity left that I had to fix before I trusted Smeagol as much as he seemed to. "And if he doesn't? If he does attempt to kill you?"

Suddenly Frodo tore back sharply. "But what do you know about it? Nothing!"

I bit my lip, and my eyes stung. I nodded and continued after Smeagol.

"I'm sorry, Sev," Frodo said finally, sounding dejected. "I don't know why I said that."

I looked back. "Well, I do. It's the Ring, Frodo; it's killing you, drive it out!"

"There's nothing I can do about it, Sev," Frodo shot back, his voice laced with an unnatural bitterness . . . and obsessive guarding. "The Ring is my burden, mine, my own!" He spun and briskly stalked after Smeagol.

Now I had to believe the creature could come back, too. That filled me with so many emotions I couldn't abide. "Don't you hear yourself, Frodo?" I begged. "Don't you know what you sound like?"

Frodo paused and turned . . . but did not come back.

I just stood there for a hurt, broken moment. My home, suddenly gone. The only person I'd ever really-

I shook my head. No. Not now. I couldn't be thinking things like that, not with the whole Ring thing going on. Had to focus on getting Frodo off of it. Otherwise I was not only forfeiting my drive to live, but his sanity, his chance to get home.

When Frodo rested that night, he fell asleep with the Ring in his hand. I feigned sleep, but the moment Smeagol was out of sight behind a stump, I slipped up onto a nearby outcropping and through to a fork in the branches of a huge tree. Tears flooded down my face; the pains came thirty minutes later or so, and they attacked with vicious force. I turned and grabbed the tree trunk. I needed something strong to hold on to, and this was all I had while Frodo fell prey to the Ring. My conviction set harder in a wistful, sorrowful sort of way.

When I had finally stopped shaking and began breathing again, I heard Smeagol. It sounded like he was . . . talking to himself, as though he were multiple people.

"We survived because of me!"

A pause. "Not anymore."

"What?"

"Master looks after us now."

I bowed my head. The tragedy of Gollum and Smeagol: the moment they found a new friend, he was taken by the very Ring that had destroyed them. And now they were looking to him for protection.

"Leave now, and never come back!"

A dark, menacing growl followed.

"Leave, now, and never come back!" Then a gasp, a slight pause, followed by, "He's gone! We told him to go away . . . and away he goes!" I peeked around the tree, and Smeagol was dancing about on the stone. "Gone, gone, gone! Smeagol is free!"

After some more whooping and cheering, Smeagol finally settled down, muttering, "gone, he's finally gone . . .!"

Somehow I figured I'd better try and be more decent to the poor thing. He was no longer Gollum. But . . . I didn't understand, really. What could I do that he would accept me? All he knew was that Frodo had the Ring, and had let him go earlier. Besides, Frodo was befriending him.

Could I change? Would Smeagol let me?

I glanced over at him. I didn't know.

Frodo was stroking the Ring again. I growled . . . and immediately regretted it. Frodo's head shot up, and he looked around. At least he had tucked the Ring back in his shirt.

"Sev?" he asked.

I burrowed against the tree. It pained me to see him the way he was.

"I'm sorry, Sev," he muttered, laying back down. The Ring did not show itself again.

I cried again. I couldn't help myself; the hobbit seemed lost, and I didn't know what to do. There was nothing I could do but hope we destroyed the Ring once and for all, right away.

Galadriel's words haunted me. Frodo's fate had been decided; I could tip the balance in or out of his favor.

But what would happen if he did turn? What would happen, though, if he chose the fate designated for him?

I did not know. He told me, back at Rivendell, that he had a dream of a distant, white land . . . but the next night he dreamed I was there with him. He said he felt better then. What did it mean? I did not know.

Mordor was some ways away yet.

My thoughts were troubled, filled with the Ring that night. When Frodo breathed deeply again, I slipped off of my tree trunk and watched him. He looked tense and shivered, so I laid my cloak over his feet. He relaxed a little. I don't know why he didn't awaken when I lifted him by the shoulders into my hands, held his head under mine, and stroked his cheek; my jaw rested on the top of his head. I allowed my hand across his face, over his forehead, tracing his nose, cupping his cheek. My thumb traced the bone below his eye. I didn't want to let go. I couldn't have his features—the features I loved and knew so well—enough. I realized then that I would have married him. I would have. If he had ever loved or wanted me, I would have done it. Finally, in a moment of hesitant uncertainty, my fingers touched his gentle lips. I inhaled sharply. I had felt them on my forehead many times, to my cheek once, never to my own. He looked so quiet and so tired . . . I lowered my head just enough, close to Frodo so that my lips nigh met his. They were so near, but I could not force myself the rest of the way. I could not awaken him. Yet, even as I backed away the momentum of doing so let our lips brush for but a moment; I had not kissed him, but a great deal within me pressed for it. Tears flowed; soon I laid him on his side and knelt a small distance away with my hands flat on my knees. He would wake up in the morning and wonder if it had rained.

He didn't, though. A few hours after we had started off, Smeagol begged Frodo to let him go find some food. Frodo agreed, and collapsed to the ground. I lifted him against the rocks.

"Sev," he muttered.

I cocked my head.

"Where were you last night?"

I shook my head, brushing his shoulders and head absentmindedly. He seemed to settle under my hands. The nearness of his lips to mine the night before flashed through my mind, and I bit them to keep me back. I couldn't look at him. "Just up in the tree. Watching out, you know."

Frodo's brow furrowed in that way the Ring seemed to impact. "You mean for Smeagol?"

I shook my head again. "He's fine; I think I trust him."

Just then the creature came bounding back into view, his mouth laden with a pair of dead conies. He dropped them in Frodo's lap, and the hobbit startled completely awake. His eyes were red-rimmed, though.

"Look what Smeagol finds!" Smeagol cried. Frodo looked somewhat relieved, until Smeagol grabbed one of the poor rabbits, cracked its spine, and began digging in. Frodo's face transitioned to horrified.

I grabbed the other corpse, lifted Frodo to his feet, and set him down a safe distance from Smeagol. Then I skinned the rabbit left (there wasn't much on it, but I thanked an oblivious Smeagol regardless), started a fire, and dug through Frodo's pack for a pan of sorts. I couldn't find anything, and so resorted to wrapping the meat in leaves and placing it under the coals long enough to cook. It wasn't the most efficient way to do it, but hopefully it tasted good enough.

Relatively soon Smeagol came bounding over, licking his lips. When he saw the fur and bones, he squawked and gaped. "No, no, no!" he cried. "You ruined it! Foolish she-hobbit!" he cried.

I shook my head. "Smeagol, Frodo's not going to eat them that way. You don't eat hobbit food, and I doubt he would enjoy yours the same way you do."

I was trying to be civil; to be frank, I was almost certain it wasn't working. Smeagol protested. When I mentioned Frodo might like some taters, Smeagol grew curious, like he had with the lembas.

"Potatoes," I clarified. Smeagol stuck his tongue out. "He'd probably like some nice chips, too," I mused, glancing over at him. He seemed distant; I shook my head. Another failed method, I supposed.

Smeagol blew a raspberry.

"I would have thought a hobbit couldn't say no to that," I mused.

"Oh, yes, we could!" Smeagol snapped. Then he crawled right up into my face; I backed away. "Give it to us raw . . . and wr-wr-wriggling! Keep your nasty chips!"

I closed my eyes. _Sam's_ chips, not mine. I didn't care to say anything to him about it, though.

When I looked up and tossed a piece of the meat to Frodo, he nibbled at it. Then he glanced around; there was a rustle in the distance. I could hear it, too.

Food forgotten, Frodo and I rushed, with Smeagol in tow, to a nearby drop-off. There was a troop of men; Smeagol explained they were working for Sauron, that he was calling all of his armies for the final war.

"Oliphaunts, Frodo!" I whispered.

He just watched.

I couldn't really help myself; I put a hand on his shoulder. He glanced at it.

"Frodo," I said.

He gave me a questioning stare.

"I know I can't fix everything," I said, "but I can sure as Gondor try."

I almost got a smile out of him then. But, of course, the attack followed. Arrows began whizzing out of nowhere, easily cutting off the entire troop of soldiers, as well as the oliphaunts, who lost their passengers and raced away.

Smeagol ran away, and I stood.

"Frodo, we've stayed too long," I said urgently. I didn't want him to get hurt; one of the oliphaunts was getting a little too close. Frodo backed away from the edge as a saddle full of soldiers crashed into the ground, and every member was caught by the arrow fire.

"Frodo, come on!" I cried, but when I turned I smacked right into an archer. I backed away, but was grabbed by the wrists. Frodo stood and rushed him, but another man flew out of the brush and attacked him.

"Leave him alone!" I snapped, slamming my foot down on the other man's toe. He released me, and I leaped for Frodo, but was thrown and pulled back.

I struggled. "Let him go!" I cried.

"Spies of Mordor?" the leader asked, disregarding me entirely.

"We are innocent travelers," Frodo said urgently. "Our business is our own. Any who claim to oppose the enemy would do well not to hinder us."

The leader walked closer to us. Frodo was struggling wildly, but as a hobbit could not get away from a man that size. The archer head had lengthy, red-blond hair and a scraggly beard to match, and he wore the white tree of Gondor across his chest. At least he wasn't too dark of an enemy; I relaxed a little.

The man eyed us carefully, then strode over to one of the fallen warriors. "He claimed to oppose the enemy as well. Do you want to know where he is from . . . why he would have turned?"

The leader was named Faramir, or so we learned once Frodo demanded to know. But he did not trust us, did not ask us any more questions before he said,

"Bind their hands."

I called out to Frodo, but my eyes were sealed with a cloth and my hands were bound. The blindfold covered my entire face; I could say or see nothing more.


	17. Broken Friendship, Built Love

They walked us through grass, over rocks, and through forests. I stepped on my captor's foot once in a while, just for good measure. Eventually he handed me off to someone else, grumbling about "getting the snarky one". Frodo and I both snickered a little at that.

Suddenly the air cooled, and we were set down on our feet. The blindfolds were ripped from in front of us. We were in a dark cave, surrounded by men milling about with weapons and supplies. Faramir stood in front of us.

I glanced at Frodo. Before I could ask him if he was all right, he got to that first. I nodded.

"You?"

He nodded as well.

"If you are not Mordor spies," Faramir repeated from a few days before, "then who are you?"

"Frodo Baggins is my name," Frodo said, "And this is Sev."

"Your guardian?"

Frodo and I replied simultaneously.

"More like lawn gnome," I said darkly. His questions were pricking on me.

"My closest companion," is what came out of Frodo.

I did my best not to stare at him. Admittedly, I was proud and pleased he had said something, particularly something like that. The heat in my face rose when he slipped an arm around my shoulders protectively.

Faramir glanced around. "Where is the one you were traveling with? The lowly one with the sunken eyes."

"There was no other," Frodo said.

I tried not to widen my eyes. Then I remembered; consistency was not his strong suit. But that was no cause to have Faramir think him a liar.

Then he changed the subject. "We set out from Rivendell with eight companions. Three were my kin. One we lost in Moria. An elf there was, and a dwarf also. We also traveled with two men: Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and Boromir of Gondor."

Faramir paused. "You are a friend of Boromir's?"

I hemmed and hawed. Frodo lowered his head. "For my part."

"More we tried than anything," I interjected.

Faramir lifted an eyebrow. "Then it would trouble you to know that he is dead."

My heart sank as an image of Boromir, shot multiple times but still fighting, dreamed up an image in my head. I could see him collapse into the grass, perhaps his head cut off afterwards by an orc. My eyes squeezed closed, but I could not stop it from running. An orc kicked him into the river. Then the warriors turned, leaving Merry, Pippin, and Sam dead on the ground, to go find the rest of the Fellowship. Maybe none of them had made it away alive.

Frodo's jaw dropped just a little. "Dead?" he managed. "How?"

"As his friends, I had hoped you would tell me," Faramir said. Frodo asked him, then, how he knew, and Faramir said, "His horn washed up on the riverbank, cloven in two. That, and I know it in my heart . . . for he was my brother."

There was nothing to say to that . . . although I wished I could have said what I wanted. That Boromir was noble, that he died in Frodo's defense; a brave, painful, honorable, horrible death. I leaned into Frodo subconsciously. Boromir was dead . . . and probably everyone else too. Frodo couldn't know what had happened, and I hadn't the heart to tell him I believed the rest of the Fellowship had perished, all at the hands of orcs at once . . . and only in his defense. I buried my face in Frodo's shoulder, and he replied in kind. I didn't want words. I didn't want anything. I felt sick.

Faramir tossed his head. "Get them elsewhere," Faramir said, and one of the guards led us away into an adjacent cave. I had separated from Frodo long enough for the poor guard not to feel like he was cutting in to anything, but the moment he had left, I embraced Frodo, probably crying waterfalls. I gripped his cloak.

"Frodo . . . Boromir . . .!"

Frodo laid his arms around my shoulders. I relaxed, trying to be sympathetic as well, but it was just too awful. Frodo didn't know if the man had died peacefully; I did. He died attacked by orcs, impaled with arrows and possibly drained of blood, to die on the grass until someone kicked him into the river. And with the Fellowship all dead, it could only have been his killers. No doubt everyone else would turn up, mangled on some remote shore. I only prayed I didn't find them and succumb to my addiction on someone I cared for.

"Sev," he said gently, "it is a sorrowful passing. But you told me we can do naught for the fallen." He did not sound apathetic . . . rather controlled, but I could detect a hint of sorrow. He knew, as I did, how strong and able Boromir had been. We both understood that, despite Boromir's blindness concerning the Ring, he'd been an able and worthy soldier.

I found a little solace in Frodo's words, if only that mine had worked to slow his pain earlier. And besides, he was right. Boromir had died fighting for him, as Gandalf had. Two of the companions, and we knew both of them to be dead.

"What could have become of the others?" I sniffled. Frodo laid my head into his shoulder.

"You told me we would see them again," he continued. "And we may yet."

I thanked him and backed away, feeling he was paining himself by being sympathetic. But the moment I did, he kissed my cheek. Or, at least, I assumed by the peck aspect of it that was the point, but I shifted at the last minute (on accident, I swear), and our lips met for the briefest of moments. My face burned, but he didn't seem to notice.

He set me down in front of the rocks, and I laid there for a small while. He sat next to me, and it didn't take long for night to settle in. I cushioned him with his cloak and blanketed him with mine. Then I kissed his cheek, taking care that he didn't move . . . like I had. I turned red again, then moved a good distance away and laid down.

Then I heard footsteps and rolled over.

"Frodo, you must come with me," Faramir said quietly. Then he glanced up at me. Frodo did as well, and he stood, offering me his hand. I took it.

Faramir shook his head. "Only Frodo."

"Sev comes with me," Frodo insisted. I nodded to affirm his statement . . . although I wondered when my insistence had become his.

Faramir sighed. "Very well. But I gathered a woman would not want to see this."

I charged out of there first and demanded to see.

The moment we crested a small rise we were standing over a pool, standing as the end to a waterfall. Faramir directed Frodo and I to peer down. My eyes widened when I saw Gollum slip into the water.

"The punishment for entering the Forbidden Pool is death," Faramir said slowly. Horrified, I looked up at Faramir. He gestured to three pairs of archers situated about the pool. "My men are ready, and await my command."

Frodo stopped.

"Shall I shoot?"

Frodo looked at me questioningly, his face drawn with worry. Smeagol arose from the water with a fish in his hand, and began singing a morbid poem about the "cool" and "fish, so juicy sweet."

Faramir raised his hand to salute the soldiers . . . but I shook my head.

"Don't!" I cried.

Frodo looked up as well. "This creature is bound to me," he said.

Faramir nodded, and Frodo offered to go retrieve Smeagol. I climbed down with him, but remained a small distance behind. He called to Smeagol, slowly coaxing him back to shore. Smeagol obeyed, his eyes wide and his mouth stuffed like a puppy.

Then the men attacked him.

"No!" I shouted and drew my sword. I dove at them, but one of the men halted me. Frodo stood, dumbfounded and frightened, until a soldier grabbed him and held him back.

"Don't hurt him!" Frodo cried. We were dragged away, and Smeagol was stuffed in a sack, beaten, and taken the other way. His screams filled the air: "Master!"

I'd failed again.

Frodo didn't sleep further. I understood; his conscience and the weight of the future were crushing him. When we got back, I hesitated, wondering if he would loathe or like me to help comfort him.

After ten minutes I had my answer. He curled up in a corner, then looked at me pleadingly. I broke down, holding him close to me, round the shoulders.

"Frodo," I said, "you can get out of here. I know you don't have a guide, but Smeagol . . . I think . . ." I shook my head. I couldn't tell him what I thought of Smeagol's fate, and I couldn't believe I was saying what I did about the Ring anyway. "Go to Mordor. Turn invisible and escape! You can go!" I laid my cheek against his. "Just this once," I whispered. "Just this once."

Frodo shook his head, and I backed away to look at him.

"Frodo, I'm begging you, get out of this place before something worse happens!"

Frodo shook his head again, slower. "You were right, Sev," he said. "The Ring has taken me. If I put it on . . . he will see. He will take me. I'm so sorry." Then he looked up. "And I won't leave you. You never left me."

I rubbed his shoulder, then let my hand to his face.

"Because I don't want to lose you," I said.

I was about to say more, but I heard someone behind me. I scrambled to my feet, and Frodo backed against the wall. Faramir walked in, a glint in his eyes.

"So," he said, "this is the answer to all the riddles." He began to advance on Frodo with his blade drawn. I growled and put a hand on my sword. Faramir glared at me and continued. "I have two halflings, in the wild . . . a host of men at my beck and call . . . and the Ring of Power in my grasp." He lifted his sword to Frodo's chest, bringing the Ring to hang on the edge of his sword. I met the sword with mine, prepared to drag it back. But he was obsessed with the Ring; he did not seem to want anything to do with Frodo. So I did not attack him.

Frodo's eyes rolled back, and he began inhaling raspily, grabbing at the wall. The Ring whispered, and the pains attacked. When I recovered, I looked up. Frodo shouted, "No!" rather savagely and ducked away. I grabbed him and held him to me. He was shaking and convulsing, clutching at the Ring. My sword clattered to the ground.

"Don't you get it?" I cried. "Leave him alone! He's going to destroy the Ring; there's nothing it can do for you! Please," I sobbed, "it's hurting him. Let him go." I rubbed his back; he collapsed into my arms. "Let him go."

A soldier rushed in and said in a low voice, "They need reinforcements at Osgiliath."

"Please!" I cried. Frodo's hands laid on my shoulders. He was relaxing, but still broken, trying to stand but for his soul in pieces. I heard him mutter my name. "Let him go!"

"Prepare the men," Faramir said.

Soon we were headed for Gondor. We were directed out of the caves without blindfolds this time, and one man held Frodo by the shoulders, another held me.

I fought them the entire time, biting and scarring. They bound my hands behind me after a while. Then I resorted to quiet reason and growling. It was hurting so much; I had to get Frodo out of there.

Frodo finally turned to Faramir, once Osgiliath was in sight. "The Ring will not save Gondor. It only has the power to destroy. Please," he begged, eyes watering, "let us go."

Faramir paused, eyeing him. "Onward!" he called. "We are running out of time."

"Faramir!" Frodo shouted, struggling. "You have to let me go!"

I wanted to kick Faramir in the shin. The fiend didn't have the sense to get over his pride, and it was bothering me enough that I wouldn't feel bad about hitting him in the face.

We entered a battlefield of ruins. Orcs and men were fighting mercilessly. Faramir dragged Frodo and I to an adjacent captain, who greeted them. "We are outnumbered," he said gravely.

Faramir nodded, and thrust Frodo to another soldier. I wrested from the arms of my own soldier and followed him.

"Give them to my father," he said. "Tell him we have the weapon that will turn the tide of this war."

"It can do nothing in your favor, Faramir," I snapped. "Let him go!"

Then Frodo's eyes darkened. His face dropped, becoming dark and glowering. I heard a shrill shriek. It pounded on my ears, and I collapsed. The pains took over. Then I saw Frodo again, and his expression had not changed.

"Frodo! Frodo, what's wrong?!"

"They are here," he said, monotone and dark. "They can see it."

"Nazgul!" Faramir shouted. Suddenly the black riders appeared, or at least one on a dragon. The dragon roared, and while it attacked viciously, Faramir threw Frodo and me behind a wall.

"Stay out of sight," he hissed, jumping back into the battle.

I tried to keep Frodo put, leaping to his side and bringing him down onto the ground. I kept my hands on his shoulders. He turned to me sorrowfully.

"Sev, they know. They can see it. It is calling to him," he said. I kept him close, rubbing his head. Then I heard the shriek again. Frodo's eyes bulged, awakened with a frightened, summoned light. He wrested away from me and dove into the crowd of soldiers.

"Frodo!" I cried. "Frodo! Come back!"

He raced up the stairs with a slight drag to his steps. I shoved through armored men to the stairs and tried as hard as possible to keep up, but he was much faster. Then I saw a Nazgul ascend from behind a stone wall on wings. The claw stretched towards Frodo, who was holding the Ring up as high as the chain would allow. His eyes were closed, Ring fighting reason. The former was winning.

"Frodo, no!" I cried, leaping onto him. I latched onto his shoulders and pulled him over. The dragon roared, then screeched when an arrow caught its eye, and it banked away. Frodo and I tumbled down the stairs with the momentum. I had him hard, and the moment we were against the ground, I landed on top of him to pin him down, but he flipped me over, cried out angrily, and hissed Sting out of its scabbard. He pushed my shoulder to the ground and held the tip of the sword to my throat.

I swallowed. The pains returned, but I ignored them. It was three times worse than the pains to watch Frodo go through this. His eyes . . . they flamed with an untamed, evil fire. That expression was not his. It feared for itself and itself alone, and wanted nothing more than to slay anything in its way.

"Frodo, it's Sev," I said. He relaxed, but he was still gasping, narrowing and flicking his eyes, trying to decide if I was friend or foe. "Don't you know your Sev?" Tears streaked against my face. Sting relaxed as well, and I fingered it out of the way as I sat up. Almost as a signature of acceptance of his actions on my part, I took his face in my hands and kissed Frodo's forehead gently.

He snapped out of it immediately. He crashed against the rock, and Sting clattered to the ground.

"I'm so sorry," he gasped. Then he stared at the earth. "I can't do this, Sev."

I struggled to my knees, then wandered over to him and laid his head on my shoulder. I wrapped my arms around him. "I know it's hard, Frodo." I sniffed. "By rights we shouldn't even be here . . . and yet we are." Then I paused, thinking back to what might make him most happy. "It's like one of those stories you have at home, where everything is dark and hard. Sometimes you don't want to read the end, because how could it be happy? After everything that had changed and gone wrong, how could it turn right? You know, in those books, the ones that really mattered, the hero survived because he was holding on to something."

Frodo shook his head. "What are we holding on to, Sev?"

I held him harder. I was holding on to him, but he wasn't holding to me.

"That there's some good in this world, Frodo," I said, biting back tears, "and it's worth fighting for!"

Frodo leaned back up to look at me. "Oh, Sev," he said, laying down again. I swayed a little. I almost never wanted this moment to end, just because I had conquered the Ring for one moment. I held in my hands Frodo Baggins of the Shire for a blessed window of time, and I felt that to let him go would be to lose him. But I couldn't leave him with the Ring.

I brought Frodo to his feet and looped his arm through mine to keep him standing. Faramir approached then, kneeling down to Frodo's level.

"I think we understand one another, Frodo Baggins," Faramir said. "Release them," he added, turning to his soldiers. One of them refused, saying the consequences for Faramir would be too great, that his life would be forfeit.

"Then my life is forfeit," Faramir said.

He led us to the old sewer system. "Here you can escape without being seen, and hide in the forest on the other side."

Frodo nodded to him.

"What is your road?"

"Smeagol tells me there is a road above Minas Mordun," Frodo said, "through the mountains. That is the path we will take."

Faramir frowned. "Cirith Ungol." Then he grabbed Smeagol's neck and shoved him up against the stone. "Is that its name?"

Smeagol denied at first, until Faramir twisted. Then, strangled, he shouted, "Yes!"

Faramir whipped to look at Frodo. "They say there is a dark terror that dwells in the cave above Cirith Ungol," he said. "You cannot go that way." A growl rose in my throat, and Frodo just looked at me.

"Master says to show him the way into Mordor!" Smeagol cried. "And that is the only way!"

Frodo gestured to Smeagol. "We must," he said.

Faramir threw Smeagol against the wall. "If you will."

"Captain Faramir," I said, "you have shown your quality, and it is great. We thank you."

Faramir nodded. "The Shire must be a place of greatness, ma'am." I didn't fully understand, but nodded in turn. He then wished Frodo the grace and goodwill of all men. Frodo thanked him, and then we walked on.

Smeagol was limping. I stopped and asked him, as gently as I dared, if he knew Frodo hadn't been responsible for his capture. Smeagol said all was forgiven, but I didn't quite believe him.

"That's awfully decent of you," I said, trying to sound sincere. I knew it was Frodo's only hope, that Smeagol forgave him.

Smeagol led us back into the woods, but these had no leaves. Now that I was on the subject of books, though, I could think of nothing else.

"I wonder if we'll ever be put into songs or books," I mused, walking next to Frodo. He turned to me, incredulous.

"What?"

"Well, you know, I wonder if they'll ever say, 'Let's hear that one about Frodo and the Ring!'" I fell back, letting my voice carry. "'Oh, yes, that's one of my favorite stories.' 'Frodo was real courageous, wasn't he, da?' 'Oh, yes, my boy, the most famousest of hobbits!, which is sayin' a lot. They don't do much.'"

Frodo laughed. I smiled.

"You've left out one of the chief characters," Frodo interjected. Then he righted. "Seville the Brilliant . . . I want to hear more about Sev!" Then he stopped, and his expression softened as he looked to me. "Frodo couldn't have gone anywhere without Sev."

I paused, my face rising in temperature. "You can't tease, Frodo," I said finally, not daring to look him in the eyes for long. I tried to keep my voice jocose . . . but having him pleased was too much. "I was being serious."

Frodo laid a hand against my neck and kissed my forehead. "So was I," he said, turning and continuing. I paused, righting the pack on my back. I couldn't perceive the sincerity of it all, and so said, just loud enough for him to hear, "Sev the Brilliant."

I saw him smirk, and it made me happy.

Then Frodo realized we had lost track of Smeagol. We called out to him for a minute or two, and then he emerged from behind one of the trees. He called for us to hurry, and we followed him, right to the mountains of Mordor.

Things were starting to look a little better. I wound my arm around Frodo's waist, and he smiled at me. Perhaps we were almost through. But whatever we faced, I could protect him to the best of my ability. And all I needed was for Frodo to be safe.


	18. The Stairs

Frodo was stroking the Ring again. I didn't tell him I could see it, but tried to appear as though I was enraptured in my own cloak.

Then Smeagol scared the Mordor right out of me. "Hurry, hobbitses!" he said, poking his head into the tunnel where Frodo was situated. "We are close to Mordor!" He leaped from his perch and began running.

"Frodo, you haven't slept at all," I accused.

Frodo glanced up at me. "And you would know because . . .?"

"Because I don't need it," I said. "Don't forget that. I'm always keeping an eye on you." Then I pulled some lembas from my pack. "Here. You haven't eaten, either."

Smeagol insisted we hurry, and I shot back, "Not until Frodo's eaten." The latter actually did so, which somehow surprised me. Well, he started to, then glanced at me. "What about you?"

I shook my head. "I don't need food, and we're running out. So eat that. I've rationed it, we're fine; we should have enough."

Frodo's eyebrows drew together. "For what?"

"For the journey home," I said.

He ate the lembas quietly. He looked a little shocked, so I crouch-walked over to him and put a hand on his shoulder.

"We're going home," I said. "We're close to Mordor, and we've made it this far. I promised you that you would get home safely, and so you shall."

I patted his shoulder and moved away, but he laid a hand on top of mine.

"I need help, Sev," he said.

Then I embraced him. He fell easily into it, and rolled into my arms, not bothering to hug me back. He needed something to lean on; I rubbed his head. "I know, Frodo," I said. "And I will always be here for you."

Smeagol insisted loudly that we hurry, and I brought Frodo to his feet, following the creature.

"Come, hobbitses," he said. "We are very close to Mordor . . . very close. No place is safe here."

"Of course not," I said. "Otherwise I'd be useless."

Smeagol had nothing to say to that, but I heard Frodo breath a small wisp of a snicker. I grinned to myself . . . then my face heated when I remembered when that smile, the lips of that smile, met mine for the tiniest of moments. I touched them absentmindedly, and wondered if he knew.

Regardless, the Ring was more important now, and keeping him safe. I looked back at him. He looked so sweet and tired; I wanted to roll him in a blanket and carry the Ring myself, wanted to keep him from this pain.

We passed the former border of Gondor, where a stone statue had been crushed by a menacing-looking rock wrapped in rusted metal. Sunshine filtered through the trees and illuminated the head of the statue, laying some distance away.

"Look, Frodo," I said, somewhat hopefully and somewhat sarcastically. "He looks just like Aragorn in 30 years."

"Crown of flowers especially," Frodo said, trying to hold back a chuckle.

"The King has a crown again," I said with a smile. "Even if it is a Rosie-Cotton style crown on a stony, bearded face." Frodo laughed, and I caught up to him, kissing his cheek. He smiled, but did not look at me. His gaze was suddenly glued to his feet. I cackled maniacally, and his face turned bright red. So did mine; I backed away.

We walked for a few hours before we entered a tunnel of trees. I glanced around, wondering what Merry, Pippin, and Sam were up to.

"Probably having tea in decent places," I said, then chuckled when I remembered that night in the Green Dragon when Rosie had hidden the ale, serving tea instead. Suddenly everything had been civilized, just for the one night.

Frodo opened his mouth to speak, but Smeagol cut him off. "We aren't in decent places," he hissed gleefully.

I shook my head and kept walking. Then I heard Frodo pause behind me, and I turned.

"What is it?" I asked, throwing the concern from my head to my voice. I had no use for hiding it from him.

"Just a thought," Frodo said, staring into the distance, brow creasing. He looked . . . more mournful than usual and I pressed him just a little by advancing. "I don't think I will be going home, Sev, and not because of anything you could or couldn't do."

And I finally understood.

I crossed the gap between us and grabbed him, leaning against the side of the rock.

"Oh, Frodo," I said, epiphany exploding far more than it should have been in my head. I laid my head on his shoulder. "You'll make it. I promise, I'll have you home if it kills me." Which it very well might, but I didn't dwell on that. I just held him for a while.

He was tense most of that time, but I couldn't take the tension for long. I supposed he thought I was going to break off, but I didn't. Then he hugged me back and relaxed well enough.

Only when he said it was time did I let him go. I slipped an arm around his shoulders, and he looked up at me.

"I promise," I said again, and kissed his cheek as we walked.

When I laid him to rest that night, he didn't complain against it, and he didn't have the Ring in his hands when he slept. I had no complaints either, hoping the best for him, and slipped into my own cloak.

Somehow I managed to drift off, even though I wasn't tired. But when I awoke . . . I heard Gollum and Smeagol.

Gollum was back.

And they were talking about how orcs tasted nasty . . . and how hobbit flesh would be warm meat.

I slipped out from the cloak and stepped gently towards Gollum. He was going on morbidly about how he would go through the bones and empty clothes and take the Ring. Once I got too close, though, I could see he was looking at a mirror of water, and could see me in it.

He screeched and dashed away, then rebounded and tackled me to the ground. I fought back, throwing him from me. He smacked into a rock, then cried,

"She's going to kill us . . . _kill_ us!"

Frodo tossed, and I shook my head at Gollum.

"Let him rest," I snapped. "I thought you told me you trusted him! Why would you do something like this?"

"Smeagol would never!" Gollum cried. "Smeagol does what Master says! Why does she hates poor Smeagol?!"

"Because you threatened his life!" I cried, voice rising. I couldn't emphasize this enough. "And you still are. Hobbit flesh, picking through bones?! Gollum, you can't, not after everything he's done for you. They were going to kill you, and he saved you!"

Smeagol's eyes were empty and wide. He shook his head at me, and then his eyes narrowed.

"We kills her first, Precious." Then he hissed loudly and sprang on me, tackling me to the ground. I didn't have my sword, and could do nothing but shove back with my hands, grappling and straining.

We rolled across ridged, rocky ground, until finally Gollum grabbed my neck and shoved my head, hammering hard against my bottom jaw, into the water. I tried to inhale before going in, but I only ingested a mouthful of water. I choked, pressure surging into my head. My blood raced there, trying to quell the pain and the death coming to me.

Then I grabbed his wrist and snapped. Gollum screeched, and I sprang out of the water, rolling away. Gollum clutched at his arm, squealing and wailing. He leaped on me angrily, and we rolled again.

"Sev!"

Frodo grabbed my shoulders (I happened to be on the top at the time) and dragged me off. "Sev! No!"

"He's going to kill us!" I cried. Why I didn't just explain, I'll never know.

"I'm not sending him away. Without a guide we're lost!"

"I know that," I insisted, "but I won't watch you die because I didn't do something I could have."

Frodo shook his head.

"You don't believe me," I said quietly.

Frodo sighed. "Smeagol has done nothing, Sev."

"Why does she hates poor Smeagol?!" Gollum begged. "Always making up lies, trying to get rid of Smeagol!"

I lowered my head.

"Sev," Frodo said, laying a hand on my shoulder and rubbing a little, "I need you on my side."

"I am, I promise," I insisted, not looking up. "But I need you to promise me that, if Gollum does prove disloyalty to you, that we'll find our own way to Mordor."

Frodo simply nodded, then backed away from me. He held out his hand, and Smeagol took it. My eyes widened in horror when Gollum looked back at me, a smug, angry look on his face. I set my own angry stare and followed.

We walked for three more days before the trees vanished, and the rocks became an ugly, black-green. Then a glowing, green structure appeared on the horizon, through the maze of rocks. We approached it quickly, and when we got there, Gollum hissed with a sadistic smile.

"Minas Morgul," Gollum said, "the Dead City. Very nasty place, full of . . . enemies." He slithered on top of small ledge, and I leaped over the rim, giving Frodo a hand up. I kept his hand and gave it a squeeze; I could feel his pulse racing as we approached the long bridge to the city.

Menacing gargoyles with long, draping tongues stared blindly at Frodo. I followed their gaze; Frodo looked apprehensive when they stared at him. His hackles raised as he watched the glowing, green structure in the side of the mountain.

"Here it is!" Gollum hissed. Frodo and I looked up. "The stairs . . . the way into Mordor."

I swallowed as I looked them up and down. They extended farther than my vision, but at least there were a couple of strong ledges to sleep on.

As I eyed them, I began to follow Gollum up the stairs, somehow expecting Frodo to be ahead of me. I had released his hand . . . and realized he was nowhere nearby. I whipped around. He was struggling, fighting something, and that something was dragging him into the Dead City. Then I saw both hands clutched to his heart.

The Ring.

"Frodo!" I cried, leaping from the stairs. Behind me, Gollum snapped, "Not that way!" I grabbed Frodo's shoulders, yanking with all my might. The Ring was strong. I felt it pulling Frodo away.

"Sev . . . they're calling it . . ." he managed. I wrapped a hand around his torso and gave a final shove, throwing him from the bridge. He landed flat on his back, and I pulled away to bring him to his feet.

I asked him if he was all right, but before he could respond I heard a huge boom and crack. I grabbed Frodo and threw him down with me behind the small ledge. When I looked up, a pillar of swirling, green-white light had shot into the sky, crackling like lightning against the clouds of Mordor.

Then I heard a screech. Frodo and I both peered over the rim of the rocks to see a dragon, mounted by a helmeted Nazgul, light on the roof of the city. The dragon roared, and the gates of the Dead City opened. Hundreds of orcs poured out, limping and stumbling across the bridge. Many bore torches, and they clanked with heavy armor and weapons.

A high-pitched, pressured shriek pierced the air. I clamped my hands over my ears, and the pains returned. Frodo groaned and writhed, grabbing the wound in his shoulder. When I bent down to him, he managed, "I can feel his blade . . ." Frodo cried out, and I grabbed his hand. He convulsed for a moment more, and while the shriek continued, his pain stopped. We both stared at my hand for a minute.

The moment the Nazgul took off and had nearly vanished from sight, I stood and pulled Frodo to his feet. We dashed to the base of the stairs, and I helped him up ahead of me, as it should have been down the Elvish rope.

We began climbing, and I reminded Gollum that, if anything happened to Frodo, I would repeat it tenfold to the creature. He just smirked nastily at me and sprang up the stairs.

By the time we'd been going for a few hours, the orcs were still pouring from Minas Morgul. I heard Gollum ahead of me.

"The stairs . . . very dangerous." Then I saw him. "Careful, Master-!" Then he gasped. Frodo was trying to vault over the edge, and I had no doubt he could see the Ring.

"Leave him alone!" I cried. Frodo didn't seem to notice. Gollum reached out his hand, and I grabbed my sword, hissing it half out of its scabbard. Gollum pinched his lips together, eyes wide and face strained . . . then grabbed Frodo's hand and vaulted him onto the edge.

I scrambled up the stairs, reaching them hopefully before Gollum could have done any harm. I was panting, and leaned against the wall to rest. Gollum told Frodo he was hungry, and sprang away up the cliff face to find food, if there was any. I doubted there would be.

*"I'm so tired, Sev," Frodo said, his eyelids flickering, begging to drift closed.

"I know," I said, rolling over to him. I laid a hand on his shoulder. "Come, lay down."

"Yes . . ." he said as I lifted him and dragged him over to the side of the wall. I lifted my cloak to set beside me, keep his head by me at least, so he had something to rest against besides rock. But I supposed after a moment that Frodo had other ideas; he laid his head and neck across my lap and curled into his cloak, holding his arms tight against himself. He tossed only for a moment before finding a comfortable position against the stone. He soon began to breathe easily and deeply, swelling against my lap with every inhale.

Surprised though I was, I laid a hand on his pale forehead, stroking a little. My poor, dear Frodo. The pain he had to go through. I smoothed his hair away and kissed his forehead, then sat back against the rocks. My hand drifted over his heart. It was beating fast. I had to protect it, and I let my hand there.

He relaxed, and he released his cloak at last; his fingers entwined with mine. And there I slept, with one hand on his forehead and the other on his chest. I had to keep him safe. Had to keep him safe . . .


	19. Go Home, Sev

I was sharply awakened when a weak, half-minded cry emerged from Frodo, and he tossed under my hands. My eyes snapped open, and I stared at Gollum, who was recoiling. I had seen his hand flash from Frodo's knee.

A growl rippled in my throat, but slowed when I saw Gollum's hurt expression. The little bit of Smeagol left in him still cared for Frodo, and I understood entirely. Gollum hissed at me and leaped away.

"No!" I called out. "Smeagol, please-!"

But the creature glared at me, curling on a small ledge. I rubbed Frodo's forehead, and he moaned a little, straightening back up. The circulation in my legs was cut off, and my toes tingled. I wiggled them to ensure I could still walk, which I could once I awakened them.

"Sev," Frodo strained, stretching his arms and legs. I laid my hands a little more firmly; I didn't want him falling over the side. He returned his hand over mine, on his heart. He traced with his thumb, and my pulse fluttered at the gentle touch. His eyes were still half-closed; he was tired.

"Where . . .? It's . . ."

"It's time, Frodo," I said gently, kissing his forehead again. "Do you want something to eat?"

He nodded, and I sat him up carefully, leaning him against the wall. I found the pack and opened it, pulling out a leaf wrapping of lembas.

But the bread was gone.

My eyes widened. "Frodo, have you eaten anything since we left the border of Gondor?" I turned slowly.

He shook his head.

"The lembas is gone," I said gravely, showing him the empty leaves. Then I turned to Gollum. "You wouldn't have eaten it. You couldn't."

Then Gollum gasped, fingering my sleeve. I stared at his spidery fingers as lembas crumbs fell to the ground.

"Are you serious?!" I cried. "I don't even-!"

"Girl one is always eating when Master isn't looking!" Gollum shrieked. "Girl one makes up nasty lies about Smeagol to hide it!"

I shook my head, staring at Frodo. "Gollum, why? Why would you do this?" Frodo would starve . . . and I could do nothing for it. I sank to the ground, burying my head in my hands.

Frodo sat down next to me. "Sev, we must go on."

"Frodo, you have to eat! You won't have the energy to carry the Ring at this rate, much less survive," I said quietly, laying against the wall. He had slipped an arm around my shoulders and crouched next to me, but now froze. I glanced up at him. "I could carry it for a while," I said. "Share the load; then we could probably find you something to-,"

"No!" Frodo clutched the Ring and ducked away. "Sev, you cannot!"

"Frodo, I just want to help-,"

"Girl one wants it for herself!" Gollum was chanting madly.

I shot to my feet. "As if you didn't!" I snapped back. "Frodo, I beg of you, Gollum is trying to kill you, trying to get the Ring!"

Frodo's face became solemn, and his eyes clouded over just slightly. "No, Sev," he said. "You want the Ring."

"Frodo, did you see what that thing did to me?" I begged, unfolding my fingers to my still-scorched palm. "Of course I don't want it. I want to help!"

Frodo reached for it, but his hand drew back.

"You shouldn't help me anymore, Sev," he said, trying to bar emotion from his face as he eyed the angry circle of red. Moments later, though, tears were streaming down. "It's too dangerous. The Ring is trying to take you."

He stared at me for a long moment, then shut his eyes and looked down.

"Go home," he muttered.

I cocked my head. He couldn't. He couldn't survive out there on his own, not with Gollum and the terror of Cirith Ungol after him.

"Frodo-,"

"Go home," he repeated, lifting his eyes. They were racing with tears, and his voice was choked. I bit my lip and shrank into the corner, shaking my head over and over.

"Frodo, you can't," I sobbed, sinking to my knees. "They'll kill you." I buried my face in my hands as he walked right past me, up the stairs. Gollum followed him, spitting at me a little.

I could have flooded all of Mordor and extinguished the fires of Mount Ordruin with the tears shed in that next twenty minutes, and the twenty minutes after that, and the few hours after that as I scrambled down the stairs. I didn't know what to do. I couldn't get help. I couldn't go back; Frodo was convinced I should do nothing. I couldn't leave him, but I couldn't help.

Such was my inner war that, as I raced down the stairs, a shard of rock slipped out from under my foot, and I tumbled and rolled down the stairs. Orcs were still marching; as I banged against one stair after another, flew from one set of stairs to the next, I knew I would fall and never be seen again.

So much for figuring out what to do.

I slapped against an outcropping of rock, hard stone slicing into every exposed piece of skin. I gasped and panted, then looked up to keep going down. Then I saw a pile of white.

Lembas.

Conviction rising, I grabbed the lembas, brushed it off as quickly as I could, and stuffed it in a sack at my side. I spun around.

"I'm coming, Frodo," I ground out, racing up the stairs.


	20. Shelob and Cirith Ungol

Some time later, I finally reached the top, and could see a deep, dark tunnel. I breathed deep and dove inside. I felt the walls to find my way . . . and brushed against something sticky. Convinced it was Frodo's blood, I gasped, and tears pricked at my eyes while my heart raced. Then I felt my hand. It was dry.

What the . . .?

I heard an Elvish chant, quickly repeated, and then saw a blue glow.

"Frodo!" I called out. I dashed towards it. Then I stumbled over a great rock. A very fragile rock; it was a skeleton. An orc skeleton.

I stared around. More orc skeletons; a few animals, all trapped in a sticky, great web, one that lined the walls and made walls of its own.

No.

No, no, no, no!

Bones. Empty clothes. She, the terror of Cirith Ungol . . . Shelob.

Willation had told me. And I hadn't remembered.

I dashed through the caves, desperately crying out for Frodo. No. She couldn't have him. I'd eat her first. I followed the blue light . . . then found it, dimming, on a rim above a hole. I grabbed it, and the moment the glass rubbed my hand, it lit up renewedly. I held it hopefully to my face; it was still warm. Frodo was still alive. At least, alive for now.

I leaped through the hole. I could hear Gollum.

"Dangling in the web, soon you will be . . ." I waited to hear him say "dead", but he said "eaten" instead. To that Frodo responded with a hurt, desperate cry, and I heard Gollum screaming. I raced through the tunnels.

When I reached the lowest, I could see the tail end of a huge spider vanishing through the tunnel. I looked up, and saw a hacked-through wall of web. I leaped through that and came across Sting, wrapped hard in spiderweb.

"Frodo!" I called, snapping the strand that held the blade and unwinding the endless, sticky string from it. I let the heavy web fall to the ground. I held Sting in one hand and Earendil in the other, dashing to the end of the cave.

Suddenly I halted. I felt some strange energy through my head . . . an image flashed into my mind, and I no longer stood in the tunnel of Cirith Ungol.

Frodo knelt, exhausted, in a sun-filtered, bright green forest, and he collapsed onto his stomach. His hair was bound in webs. As he looked up, Galadriel approached him. They stood a few yards away from me; or, theoretically, what "me" was, if I even existed in this vision.

"This task was appointed to you, Frodo of the Shire," she said, not moving her mouth. She beckoned to me, and I approached them. Frodo looked up at me, his expression pained. She gestured to him. "If you do not find a way, no one will." I offered him my hand.

"Please, Frodo," I begged. My voice echoed through the woods. "I want to help you."

He looked pleading as well. "Sev, I'm so sorry." But then he stared at my outstretched fingers. He set his face in strong determination and grabbed my hand, fingers sliding into place along my ring-shaped scar. I smiled, and so did Galadriel. I drew him to his feet . . .

And the vision was gone. I stared at my hand for a long moment, imagining I still had him. I closed my fingers and held them to my heart. The scar throbbed with renewed pain.

I dashed through the tunnels. When I turned a final corner, I could see a bright light in the distance, and a red dot beyond that. Then I looked down. Frodo was stumbling towards the red light, and looking around him.

"Frodo!" I called. He probably couldn't hear me. Ecstatic to see him, I leaped over rocks and bounded at him. He turned at my voice, but couldn't see me, apparently.

Then the spider lowered herself in front of him. My heart sank. He was not watching.

"Frodo, look out!"

He turned too late. The spider launched at him, and he lurched. After a moment of swaying, he collapsed. The spider caught him and busily began wrapping him in sticky, off-white web.

"No!" I dashed through the hole, straining and breathing heavily. The spider looked up at me.

"Put him down, Shelob," I demanded, wielding the light in front of me. She released him, and he slapped against the ground with a thud.

"You will not touch him again!" I cried. "Now go on, fight me!"

The spider raced for me, and I shined the light in her face. She shrieked and reared up on her back four legs, scrambling away. I slashed at her legs, but without much luck. She grabbed my forearm with a claw and sent the starlight spinning out of my hand. It vanished, fading back into the darkness.

I fought her further, but she knocked the sword from my hand as well, backing me into the cliff face. I scrambled up the side; just as long as I could keep her away from Frodo. I grappled with her front pincers, then rolled down her back. I grabbed my sword and got her right in the eye. So I had indeed made a mark.

Then she bit down on the end of Frodo's sword, cleaning it, for which I was somewhat grateful. She wrenched it from my hand and tossed it aside, and I went down with it. I reached for the sword, but one of her clawed feet grabbed it and threw it away. Then she tried to stab me with a stinger, and I rolled away. Then I got a hand around Sting's hilt and stabbed up into her. She shrieked madly, and drew back. I grabbed the light and urged her forcefully back into her tunnel. With a whimper of rage, she curled up and retreated into the blackness.

Satisfied, I breathed a sigh of relief. Then I abruptly dropped the light and the sword when I saw Frodo. I raced to his side and lifted him up onto my lap. I thought I already knew what had happened, but somehow a type of blind hope begged him to survive.

"Frodo! Frodo!" I was overjoyed to see him . . . but not to see him in such pain. I ripped the webbing from his face and the top of his head. I paused. His eyes were open wide, his face drawn and pale.

I rubbed the gunk from my hands on the extra webbing and tossed it aside, then gently fingered the drops of thick green from his face. "Wake up," I insisted, biting back a sob. I lifted him into my arms. "Wake up!" Then I choked a little.

"Don't go where I can't follow." Then, as I looked over his face, I thought I succumbed what I had already realized the moment the spider had him. I shook my head again and again.

I cried. "You can't die." I sobbed, kissing his forehead. I buried his face in my shoulder, swaying, trying to ease the pain. I had Frodo, but Frodo was no more. I rubbed the back of his head. He would soon turn cold.

I must have mourned for hours. It felt like forever. I felt sick when I laid him back down. I swallowed. Tears were running down my cheeks and past them. I fingered the webbing away from his neck and chest, removing the chain of the Ring that had brought about his demise. Glaring angrily at it—and clutching it in my shaking fist—, I fitted it around my head to rest on my neck. It burned and stung when it laid against my skin, but I could not more than growl. I would finish what he had started. I tied my cloak tighter, laying the Ring over that. Conviction crackled through me like a wild energy until I looked back at Frodo. My conviction did not die, but I threw it aside for a moment.

My Frodo. Dead, on the ground. The spider had reached him before I did.

I didn't want to leave him. I would have to bury him once the Ring was finished.

As thoughts trudged relentlessly and hopelessly through my head, my thumb graced his cheek. I lifted him back into my arms, studying the loss of him. His eyes had not lost their shine, even in death. I bit back a sob. I'd never imagined seeing him like this. My stomach knotted, and my heart punched at me irregularly with that initial reaction, the knowledge that Frodo was gone.

He had not yet become cold. Sorrow overcame me, a realization that it ended here. He ended here. In a muddle of nostalgia—memories, feelings of talking to him, befriending him, loving him, touching him—my lips brushed his, and stayed for a moment or two.

Moments after I broke away, I saw Sting glowing bright blue. I furrowed my brow at it. The orcs could not have him. I would hide him until I could bury him properly. I lowered Frodo gently to the ground, then lifted Sting onto a ledge and glanced around for a hiding spot. I found a niche in the wall that looked possibly amply sized for at least him. I squeezed myself in; it was definitely big enough to fit him, and possibly me, if I didn't mind the claustrophobia.

But as I army-crawled out of the compacted tunnel, I elbowed the side of the wall too hard, and a pile of stones cascaded against me, slamming me into the hole. I could hardly breathe.

I shook my head. They couldn't have him. I scrambled against the rocks, but to no avail. They were solidly locked against my body. Please, please don't take him. You wouldn't want anything with a dead, lone hobbit.

A group of six orcs came into view, limping and scraping across the ground. I wanted to shout, draw them away from him, but they would stab me through the head and both of us would be dead. Then they may or may not break open the mountain and get the Ring. I couldn't risk it.

Curses.

"Looks like Shelob's been having a little bit of fun," one of the orcs hissed.

"Killing more animals and whatnot," another grumbled.

Then the orc glanced up at him. He nudged Frodo with his hands. _Leave your grubby, dirty fingers off of him_ , I hissed to myself. Only a miniscule growl escaped.

"This fellow ain't dead," he said, tongue waggling with a dead weight out of his mouth.

My eyes widened. Not dead? Tears pricked my eyes. Frodo!

"She gets 'em with her stinger, and they go limp as a boned fish. Then she has her way with them. That's how she likes to feed; warm and living."

One orc guffawed triumphantly. I shuddered, imagining what she would have done to him.

"Take him up to the tower!" the head orc snapped. Two orcs grabbed Frodo by the shoulders and ankles. "When we're through with him, he'll wish he'd never been born." The orc licked his lips and looked around cautiously before racing after the others.

"Sev, you nitwit!" I snapped, wriggling against the piled rocks. I scrambled and shoved, but they would not come loose. My elbows and shoulders were raw and bleeding black by the time I forced my way through. I tumbled from the hole, grabbed Sting, and, while I was weak from blood loss, stumbled up towards the tower.

I could only take a small deal of distance at a time once the scrapes had gained at least an uppermost webbing of skin, and I rested until then. Immediately when I felt better, I leaped from my sitting position and sprang towards the tower.

When I got up close, I heard shouting and clanging. There were hundreds of orcs in there, but I had to save Frodo if I could. The fewer the orcs, the less in line to torture him, even if I did bleed to death trying. I ran right up to the wooden door and banged with my sword as hard as I could.

"Open up!" I called over the clamor. There was no reaction. "Open up, I'm going to eat you all! Let him go or fight me!"

Again, they didn't respond. Frustrated, I kicked the door. Two huge boards creaked apart, opening widely enough for me to get through. Lifting an eyebrow, I squeezed inside.

Sudden silence. Sting had faded, the blue glow vanishing into the air. I glanced around. They'd all killed each other. Why, I didn't know. I leaped over the piles of them, averting my eyes and pains that begged me to pick the remains of their wounds, and up endless flights of stone stairs. Then, after only a few minutes, Sting faintly began to glow again.


	21. Mordor

I growled and drew my own sword, walking slower. When I turned the corner, I could see three orcs lined up against the stairs. They roared and rushed for me.

I overtook them rather easily. "This one's for Frodo!" I cried as one fell to the flat of my blade. "For Rosie Cotton!" Another one crumpled against the wall. I threw the last down the stairs. "And that's for Willation!" I called after him. Sting had not yet faded; I raced up the tower.

As I approached the uppermost roof, I heard the orc from earlier, the one that had said he would torture Frodo. A growl rose in my throat. "Stop your squealin', you miserable rat! I'm going to bleed you, like a stuck pig!"

I lifted both swords above me and brought the flats banging down on his head. His eyes rolled as he slacked to the floor. "Not if I get you first," I muttered at him.

"Sev!" Frodo cried. He had been tied at the wrists with a thick cord. His bare glimmer of a smile—well, the mere sight of his face moving and alive—I couldn't help myself. I knelt down next to him, grabbed the back of his head, and laid the front of it on my shoulder. The swords clattered away. I did not need them, but I needed my hand. My fingers caught his neck, holding his head as closely as I could. His pulse thrummed under my hands, chilling me: he was alive. I kissed his forehead, the tip of his nose, and his cheek before I held it again.

"You were dead," I managed, tears flooding my eyes. I closed them; I had him back.

"Sev," Frodo managed, swallowing. "I'm so sorry, Sev."

"Nothing to it," I said gently. I pulled away and rubbed his hair back repeatedly. I couldn't have his features, his eyes, enough. My hands cupped his face. "I'm just so glad you're alive."

He nodded, dazed, as I pulled out my knife and sliced through his bonds. Then my eyes widened. The stab of the Morgul blade, and a small circle of yellow where Shelob had attacked him. His wounds . . . they looked awful.

I stepped back, gaping. "Frodo . . . !" Then my ears flattened. "The Mithril!"

"That doesn't matter," Frodo said urgently after shaking his head. He'd been watching me distantly but now shook out of it. He clambered to his knees. "They have it, Sev," he said, voice full of pain. "They took the Ring!"

I paused, blinking once or twice. I hemmed and hawed for a second. I wanted to take it to Mount Doom myself, spare Frodo that last stretch of pain and weight. But the look on his face . . . the despair, the thought that he had failed . . .

"My apologies, Frodo, but they haven't," I said slowly. Apparently I let his opinion win out over mine. As I did in situations like these. His expression darkened, fear replacing despair.

I lifted the Ring from beneath my cloak, where it had slipped back. I winced at the sting of the scar so far up my neck that I couldn't even see it. Frodo glanced up at me, not staring at the Ring as I had thought he would.

"I thought I'd-," I choked a little. "I thought I'd lost you. So I took it. I could finish it if you-,"

"Sev," he insisted. "Sev, give me the Ring."

My eyes widened. "Frodo . . ."

He shook his head. "Sev, it'll burn you if you keep it. Give me the Ring."

I swallowed, holding out the Ring. I knelt down very carefully, and he bent his head forward a little anxiously. I lowered the Ring over his head. My fingers brushed his neck as I backed away, and I winced when I saw a strip of raw skin where the Ring's chain hung. Frodo looked back up at me, eyebrows drawn together. "Sev, please understand. If you carry it, it will kill you."

He struggled to stand, and I grabbed his hands, pulling him to his feet. Then I glanced around. "We'd better find some armor. You can't go through Mordor in naught but permeable." I slipped the pack from my shoulders and tossed a white shirt to him, then ducked back to find armor.

I found two sets of small, almost hobbit-sized orc armor. They were sinister and heavy, but it was all we could do to stay alive and discrete. As I came back up the stairs laden with armor, I turned to Frodo.

"All right, so they're really heavy and a little big, but I think-,"

I was caught off guard by Frodo's smile. He looked far more pleasant, now that I couldn't see any scars. He looked at me longingly, then wrapped his arms hard around me. Taken aback, I dropped the armor and slowly hugged him as well.

"You came for me," he said.

I nodded and kissed his cheek again. I could never get enough of that, however dark the peril and ridiculous my need. "Of course I did. I never wanted to leave you."

"And you didn't take the Ring to the mountain."

I paused. "No. Galadriel said this yesterday. This task was appointed to you. Even if I wanted to find a way, I couldn't."

Frodo pulled back and looked up at me. "So you were there."

I nodded. The silence was overwhelming for me, but that shimmer in his eyes said he wanted it, so I let it go. As if he loved me, even at a time like this. We simply didn't have time, and he didn't have the mental strength for it, not now.

I pulled a breastplate and assorted other armor pieces from my pile and handed them to Frodo, as well as a helmet with a curved beak. "Here. These will help, hopefully."

He nodded and accepted the armor. I slipped my own on, as well as a rusting helmet with a sharp mouthpiece that stretched farther down than my neck. I tsked, and the sound rebounded on the metal walls of the wide helmet.

"Smells like something died in here." I crinkled my nose and glanced at Frodo. My eyes widened.

His eyes were huge inside the helmet. Isolated they looked unnaturally large and beautiful, just as I'd always thought them to be. He glanced at me curiously.

I swallowed and shook my head hard. So much for orc armor; it only made him more attractive in one way or another. "We'd better be off, then. We don't have too far to go." I offered Frodo a hand, and he took it. I led him down the stairs and out the other door of the tower.

When we got outside, the pains attacked . . . hard.

As I staggered against the wall, Frodo surveyed the land of Mordor. "There are so many of them," he said somewhat hopelessly. When my vision cleared, I looked too. There were miles and miles of torches, thick layers of orcs that spanned the entire distance. In the center of Mordor stood Barad-Dur. The Eye cast a spotlight on the ground, searching the world for the Ring Frodo carried; I growled. Mount Doom rose over the landscape, shedding red-orange lava and plumes of heavy, gray smoke.

"Mordor," I said sarcastically. "Yay, we made it!"

"We'll never get through unseen," Frodo continued, his voice growing worried. "Sev, I don't know how we'll do it."

I glanced at him. "Let's just get down the hill first. Then we can be depressed about the fact that we are not two hobbits in a big land, or two hobbits in a little land, but a hobbit and an anti-creature in a frying pan."

Frodo eyed me carefully. "Indeed?"

I held up my hands. "If you'd rather be frivolous getting down there, that's all fine with me, but you look like you want to be depressed." Then I heard heavy crunches of armor and looked up. The waves of the orc torches had begun to shift away, to the West.

"Frodo! They're moving!"

"Come on, then," Frodo said quietly, sliding down the rocks of the hill. We clambered down, and by the time we slipped into the base, there were orcs coming. I could hear them, and I could feel Frodo's sword glowing. The pains stabbed a little; something about Frodo had been newly wounded.

I quickly scanned for a way out. I leaped across the small walkway and glanced over. "Frodo, we can-," Then I paused. The drop was at least fifty feet. I backed away and turned to him. "We can do nothing."

"Nothing to stay out of sight," Frodo said. He burrowed into the side of the wall and sat down, trying to look ambivalent. I did the same, knowing all it could do was make us one with the orcs for a minute.

They came clanking and crunching around the bend a few minutes later. Some were carrying torches, and they were all in a hurry. At the rate my pains were begging me to drain Frodo of his wounds, he wasn't going to be able to keep up with them. I hoped they would leave us alone, but didn't anticipate it. They were even obsessed with checking and prodding the dead, apparently. I growled at the memory, watching that dirty orc poking at Frodo.

Then a shouting, severe orc came into view, snapping a whip. Then he spotted us. "Get moving, rats!" he snapped, cracking the whip across my shoulders. "We're going to the front lines! Get up!" I winced, trying to ignore the spread of my blood to calm the welt above. I grabbed Frodo and, as the leader continued to whip me into line, threw Frodo into the group and followed him in. I looped his arm around my shoulder and half carried him into the orc camp.

"Sev, are you all right?" Frodo gasped, his eyes drifting open and shut. I nodded quickly.

"I'm fine. We have to get out of here."

Suddenly the orcs ground to a halt. The head came out. "Inspection!" he called. Then I saw a gruff, huge orc, throwing some colleagues aside. I stared at him, which was a huge mistake. I quickly threw my gaze to Frodo when he said,

"Sev . . . it's so heavy . . ."

I looked down. His neck was now lined with blood underneath the Ring's chain. I gasped. It hurt me carrying the thing, but it was still doing so much to him. I fingered the ring of dried blood at my neck, begging an idea to present itself.

Then the orc inspector spotted me again when I looked back up to him. He roared and forced his way through the army toward us.

I stammered. "Frodo! Frodo, what do I do?"

"Hit me, Sev," he muttered.

My eyes widened. "Frodo, I'm not going to hit you."

"Hit me," he insisted. "Start fighting!"

I weakly kneed him in the stomach and feigned anger, but it was not satisfactory for him, and didn't stir the other orcs.

"No, Sev," he said. "Harder. As hard as you can."

My eyes squeezed shut as yells escaped me, and my knee coursed into Frodo's stomach. Tears burned as they streaked down my face; I didn't want to hurt him. I could feel the pains growing as it added to the weight he had to carry. Luckily enough, on contact I healed what I broke. Besides, once in a while he attempted to fight back, which surprised me for sake of the strength it took, but it helped to have an excuse not to do anything.

"Now, Sev!" Frodo said as the commotion stirred and the whip came out. I grabbed him and dragged him to the nearest tent as the inspector came close to us. He roared for everyone to get back in line, and the orcs began moving once more. When we ducked inside, I put both hands on Frodo's shoulders and sat him on the ground to rest.

"Are you all right?" I asked, choking back another sob.

He nodded, gasping. I shook my head again and again, stroking a hand across his helmet. "No. Stay here for a minute; you need to rest just a little."

He shook his head. "We have to keep moving, Sev. You did well, and I'm fine," he insisted, standing. I looped his arm around my shoulder again, and we slipped out the other side of the tent, making our way across the rocks towards Mount Doom.

Soon, though, holding all that armor as well as Frodo became too heavy. I tried to contain it as long as possible, but Frodo could sense it, and accordingly pulled back. There was nothing left in me; I tried to beg him to come back, that he couldn't carry himself on his own, but I had lost too much blood, most of it to the Ring. I was nigh dead now, and my only need was to see Frodo throw the Ring into the Cracks of Doom. Then I could lay down and rest, or die if need be.

We stumbled across the stones. Frodo quickly fell behind. I watched him, wondering if I should wait for him or go to him, try to carry him a little again. Then, when I looked back once more, he stumbled and collapsed to the ground.

As I limped to his side, he grabbed his helmet and pulled it off. He was breathing hard. "It's such a weight to carry," he said, voice growing raspy.

I pulled off one glove and rubbed against his head, glancing behind me at the volcano. "Even the most direct route is far," I said mournfully. "I think we should get rid of anything we aren't sure to need."

Frodo looked up at me and tried to stand, but I kept him down.

"Rest a moment first," I said.

He shook his head. "We have to keep moving, Sev." As if to prove his point, he lifted me onto my feet, and we helped each other over to the slope overlooking a deep pit. We threw our armor and most everything else but the water inside.

Then I insisted he rest again, and he finally complied. We picked our way against a ledge, out of the view of the Great Eye, and I laid Frodo down, then laid myself down a small space away. He rolled across the rocks and sidled up next to me, quickly falling half conscious. I slipped an arm around his shoulders, and hunched over a little. Then a flash of light caught my eye, and I looked up.

A star, Earendil, cut with a gleam through the black clouds of Mordor.

"Frodo," I whispered. His eyes drifted open, and I lifted the hair away from his face. "Light," I said. "Something so beautiful and bright no darkness can completely take it away." I stared down into his eyes. They, too, were covered with the clouds of Mordor, but when my hand rested on his face, they cleared for a moment, shimmering. They were huge and full of light.

Unlike me. My life was a dark story, but for those two big stars in them. Those two glimmers of hope that Mordor was trying to block out. But I could still see them. There was still hope for him. If I died with my darkness, I would ensure his beautiful light lived on.

I slowly and deeply kissed his forehead. When I backed away, his eyes were barely open. He probably hadn't even known what I'd done. He looked so tired; I stroked his cheek, glaring bitterly at the Ring.

"Sev," he said.

"Hmm?"

Then he rolled to a sitting position, lowered my face with both hands about it, and pressed his lips to my forehead as well before laying against my shoulder again. I wondered if he thought he'd been hallucinating when I'd done it. "It's almost over," he said finally.

I nodded and stood. He looked up, trying to stand as well. I offered both hands, and when he accepted them I lifted him to his feet. He walked just behind me, and we stumbled across more ground.

We rested again about twenty minutes later, against a pair of rocks. Frodo desperately grabbed for the waterskin he'd brought, and as he righted it vertically, I noticed nothing came out. He set it down, eyes closed, chest heaving.

"Here," I said. "Take mine. There's a little left."

He glanced up at me after he'd finished mine. "Will there be enough to get back?"

I paused. "I don't know that we'll need much to get back," I said. I wouldn't need any; I wouldn't be alive, I assumed. Frodo cocked his head.

"Sev?"

"Frodo, I told you I would do everything I could to get you back home," I said. "And stealing your resources isn't going to help any. I'm wasting away as it is. I'm dying, and there's nothing for it." I swallowed.

Frodo stood slowly. "Sev, you can't leave me."

"I'll get you out of Mordor first, I promise," I said, laying a hand on his shoulder. We were both weak; I tried not to lean on it. He felt so strong and yet fragile under my hand. The journey had broken him, but he carried on with an endurance none of us had. I brought him up to my level and we continued.

As we walked, I felt a sense of heat on me . . . something sinister I didn't recognize. My blood boiled, and the Ring as it jolted around Frodo's neck came to rest on my shoulder. It seared through my sleeve and into my flesh, and I fell to the ground.

When I looked up, the Eye was turning to Frodo. I grabbed his leg.

"Frodo, get down!"

Frodo collapsed to the ground, rolling behind a pile of rock. His eyes were wide, and just clamping a hand about his wrist, I could feel his heart surging.

The Eye had seen him, I thought. His eyes were wide, and he was grabbing at the Ring. The Eye did not pass from our area for a long time, but soon fixed back on the war, wherever that happened to be.

I put my hands about Frodo's waist and lifted him to his feet. We were near the slope of the mountain now, and everything had suddenly become steep. I stumbled on the sharp rocks, eventually collapsing to my hands and knees. My blood drained to thousands of small patches on my skin, and I laid there, unable to move.

Somewhere behind me Frodo collapsed as well.


	22. The End of All Things

Under the flaming crest of Mount Doom we rested. Strength exhausted and right near the end, we could not even sit up. Leastwise, I couldn't. When my eye cracked open, Frodo was digging his fingers into the mountainside, grabbing his way up. But he soon faltered. Even with his determination he couldn't get up there alone.

I ground my way to him up the mountain. While my brain collapsed, my pains took over, and my fingers brushed against the scar on his neck. The blood drew back a little, feeding strength into my system. It felt like the chill of cool ice on a scathing day and the warmth of a blazing fire in the biting, icy tundra. After I gained enough energy to stop draining, I sat up, slung an arm around his torso to bring him to me, and laid him across my lap. He looked so tired. If I hadn't known what he'd done—what he as a person had been capable of, if I'd never loved him—I might not have felt so awful, looking at the wounds and exhaustion that overcame him now.

"Remember the Shire, Frodo?" I asked, swaying a little. I brushed his hair back over and over again, severity of his pain flowing with anxiety through my veins. I couldn't take my hand from his face. I felt like I was losing him. "It'll be spring about now. They'll be planting the barley in the fields, and the orchards will be in blossom. They'll be having the first of strawberries with cream." I loathed strawberries, but he didn't. I swallowed and looked his face up and down. "Do you remember the taste of strawberries, Frodo?"

He just stared up at me, expression exhausted and broken. "No, Sev," he said. "I can't recall the taste of food . . . nor the sound of water . . ." My eyes pricked. I kissed his forehead desperately. Hang on, Frodo, don't break. He was so fragile in my hands. "Nor the touch of grass . . . running about after dark . . ."

Tears raced out of my closed eyes as I held him.

"Now all I can feel is him . . .!" Frodo's voice grew desperate, and even through my blurry vision I could see his eyes widening in unadulterated fear. "He's watching me . . . and I can see him . . . with my waking eyes!"

My eyes narrowed. "Then let us be rid of it!" I cried, seething and determined. "Come on, Frodo; I can't carry it for you, and I'm pretty sure I can't carry you . . . but I can sure try!" I grabbed his wrists and lifted him over my back. I stumbled; he and I had about the same mass to speak of, but then a patch of my shoulder started to fizzle, growing with strength. So did a small circle at my mid-back; energy surged through me like it hadn't in years.

"For Frodo," I ground out, taking step after step, digging my feet into the stones.

After some time, the Crack of Doom stood just ahead of us. I glanced over my shoulder at Frodo. "We're almost there!" I cried, walking faster. The energy had not stopped coming, and I could feel my injuries healing themselves under whatever miraculous power had come over me. And it didn't feel like I was draining anything normal. Something had changed this time, but I didn't know what had happened.

Then I heard a familiar hiss. "Tricksy hobbitses." I glanced up, but not by the time Gollum leaped onto Frodo and wrenched against his neck. I fought back, dragging forward, but Frodo slipped from my shoulders, and with the sudden loss of weight and energy I collapsed.

Frodo and Gollum rolled down the slope, slamming against the rocks as they fell.

"Sev!" Frodo called out. I stood and leaped after them, from stone to stone. Gollum grappled with Frodo until he had him against an edge and, after unsuccessful struggling to grab the Ring, began to choke Frodo.

"You swore on the Precious!" Frodo protested against being strangled. "Smeagol promised!"

Gollum paused, grinned, and said, "Smeagol lied."

I leaped on Gollum, dragging him from Frodo's back. "Run, Frodo! Just get out of here!" Gollum bit hard into my shoulder, and I cried out, rolling as well. When I landed on him, I balled a fist and smacked him in the face. I left a nasty enough mark and turned to run, but Gollum started after me, hissing. I pulled out my blade and nicked his stomach. He screeched and backed away. I ignored the haunting desire to heal him.

I turned and began running after Frodo. He was bounding up the mountain and disappeared in the Crack of Doom. I followed.

"Frodo!" I cried out as I entered the smoking, shaking mountain. There was a red glow everywhere, and the walls rang with rumblings louder than thunder. "Frodo-!"

Frodo caught me by the shoulders and my eyes widened, letting in a stream of smoke. I coughed.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

I nodded, coughing again. "Where's the Ring?"

Frodo turned and ran to the end of a long precipice, removed the Ring from his neck, and moved to drop it in. But he stopped.

"What are you waiting for?" I begged, a long time after we should have been finished with this. "Just let it go!"

He was staring at the Ring, drawing it closer and closer to his face. He cocked his head at it, lifted his hand, studying it.

"Frodo, no!" I cried. "Frodo, please, I'm begging you!"

He turned back to me. "The Ring is mine." He snapped it from its chain and slipped it onto his finger, vanishing.

"No!" I cried, turning this way and that. Then I could see his footprints in the sand. I dove to find him, but a crack resounded against the back of my head, and my vision flashed. Pain throbbing through my neck and spine, I crumpled to the ground.

"Frodo . . ." I moaned. Then I looked up. Gollum had jumped on him, while he was still invisible, and grabbed his hand. Gollum chomped hard, and my eyes widened as Frodo came back into view, crying out in pain. He collapsed, clutching his hand.

I struggled to my knees. "Leave him alone!" I strove to stand, but the blood loss continued, and weakness grabbed me. I fell again.

Gollum grabbed the Ring from Frodo's finger and held it up, admiring it deeply. He began to sway on his feet, dancing a little, excited that he finally had it back.

Frodo gasped and stood, expression softening. Apparently being bitten dragged him back into reality. He glanced at me, then back at Gollum. "Smeagol, get rid of it!" he cried. "Smeagol, throw it in! Smeagol! For both our sakes, let it go!"

Gollum paid no attention to him, so Frodo reached forward, grappling for the Ring. At one point I almost thought he had it, as he moved to throw it in, but Gollum reached for it, grabbing as well. Then they both tumbled over the edge.

"Frodo!" I scrambled on my stomach to the cliff's drop, just in time to see Gollum's hand disappear into the Crack of Doom. The Ring settled on the lava's surface.

I looked around frantically, finally spotting Frodo below me. He was holding on with one hand, staring up at me.

"Sev," he said.

I reached down. "Frodo, come on! Frodo!"

Then I looked at the Ring. Frodo followed my gaze a moment later, but shook his head.

"I won't let go, Sev," he said. "I'm ready to go home." His eyes shimmered like stars. Hurt stars. Then he swung one drenched hand and gripped mine powerfully. Apparently Gollum had bitten something intense; the blood from his hand did not fade when I grabbed it, but the new tip of his pointer finger began to mend over.

As Mount Doom broke and exploded around us, I dragged him to his knees over the edge. We were both breathing hard, and the mountain was crumbling, but I needed a moment.

"Frodo, you're alive!" Then I paused, making sure I was right. "Again!"

He nodded, and I laid his head under mine. One hand rested on his neck, and I drew energy from the raw patch. Once I had enough to stand, I pulled him to his feet, and we tore across the quickly collapsing bridge.

As we leaped out of the Crack of Doom, lava exploded behind us, sheathing the mountain in liquid fire. Frodo and I only stopped running when we reached a small peak overlooking the sea of lava.

Frodo gasped and breathed hard. His expression grew relieved, and actually somewhat joyous. "It's gone!" he cried. "Oh, Sev, it's gone!"

I nodded, exhausted and relieved he had made it, then awakened and squawked when a wave of lava licked at Frodo's feet. I quickly dragged him away, and we settled down on the rocks.

Frodo laid against an outcropping. He closed his eyes, a semi-smile coming to his face as his breath drew in and out quickly and voluminously. "I can see the Shire," he said finally. I could see his mind working, surveying the rolling hills and bright, green trees. "Brandywine . . . West Farthing . . . Bag End . . . Gandalf's fireworks . . . the lights in the party tree . . ."

"Rosie Cotton," I interjected, "dancing with Sam."

"Pippin, Merry . . ."

I paused, tears pricking my eyes as I remembered exactly why I knew that night so well. "Frodo Baggins," I whispered to myself, glancing over at him. His chest heaved with exhaustion, and he was covered with blood and smudges of volcanic ash. I could see the scratches on his face, the bitten finger from his hand, the harsh ring of scar about his neck. What a contrast . . . "He was so happy that night." I swallowed, looking away. Tears ran down my face. "If I was to marry anyone, it would have been him." I was talking to Willation, begging him, but I couldn't keep it quiet enough. Admittedly, I decided to heck with caring if Frodo heard me. It was over for us both. "It would have been him!"

Frodo rolled up from the ground, eyes tired but sympathetic, and laid his arm across my shoulders. His forehead met the side of my face. "I'm glad to be with you, Seville," he said, turning, "here at the end of all things." He laid his hand on the opposite side of my face and kissed the cheek closest to him, then looped both arms around me. I laid a hand on his arm and another around his waist.

Lava flowed around us. The rest of the world was silent. Just me and Frodo.

Dying on the slopes of Mount Doom.

And I would have that he lived, but wouldn't have traded my own life for those moments.


	23. Return of the King - Home

I don't even know how it happened, but he ended up a few inches away, and we were both on our backs, unconscious. I remember nothing, but that when Frodo suddenly vanished from nearby, I protested in a mumble. Then a huge talon dragged me from the stone.

"No . . . Frodo . . ." I muttered. I blinked, and could see him in the talons of another eagle. I scrambled as quickly as you can during sleep to the edge of the talon, and once I got close enough leaped onto the claw holding Frodo. The eagle protested, but I blew a raspberry back. I clung to the leg, quickly falling asleep again. I stroked Frodo's forehead.

"We're going home," I said.

We were set down on the uppermost level of a white city. I almost thought we were dead, but then I saw Legolas and Gandalf dragging Frodo away.

"No!" I cried. They both looked back, shocked. I struggled to my feet, then stopped abruptly.

"Gandalf?"

He looked different somehow. He smiled at me and nodded, but I ignored that. I didn't know how he was still alive, but regardless, he was alive and taking Frodo away. I pursued them, stumbling about.

"We were sending Pippin and Merry for you, Seville," Gandalf said, continuing to walk.

"I don't care!" I snapped. "You're taking Frodo away. How do I trust you? You're white now. How did you survive? What was with the war? What happened to Sauron? Where are you taking Frodo?"

Gandalf sighed, exasperated. I was just trying to be irritating so he would put Frodo down, but he didn't. I frowned and ran to keep up. When they crossed into a door, however, I spun and smacked into a wall, exhausted beyond all reason. Then they closed the door.

I protested, banging on the door.

"Hey!" a familiar voice called.

I whipped around.

"Pippin! Merry!" I cried, my words slurred. After I had embraced each of them, I pointed frantically at the door. "They took Frodo! They took Frodo! They-!"

Pippin gave me an even bigger hug than before, then turned me over, lifting me by my shoulders. Merry grabbed my ankles and lifted, and they moved me into an adjacent room. I sighed as I laid back in pillows. Pippin brushed the hair from my face.

"You'll be fine," he insisted. "We're taking care of you."

"But I need people to look after Frodo," I protested. "Look after Frodo." I grabbed his hand, my eyes wide. "You look after Frodo and I'll kiss you on the cheek or something."

To this Pippin waggled his eyebrows. "Oh, I'll do that, then."

I knew he'd forget, and we both knew I was being sarcastic.

I collapsed into the bed as they departed, and I stared at the ceiling. Everything went dizzy. I hoped Frodo was all right.

I didn't really get any rest, not that day, or the next night, or the day after that. A sweet woman named Eowyn tended to me, and she told me I had a surprisingly small amount of injuries. I told her she didn't know the half of it, and she just smiled.

The moment I felt well enough, I leaped out of bed and raced for the door. My head spun a little, but I didn't care. I wrenched the door open and ran right into Pippin and Merry.

"You're out of bed early," Merry said accusatorily.

I frowned. "Where's Frodo?"

Pippin pointed at the room I'd seen him taken into. I dashed through the other two hobbits. They protested, but I grabbed the knob and slipped inside, closing it gently behind me.

Gandalf sat there, and so did Aragorn. The latter was rubbing with a drenched rag at a scar across Frodo's face. When they both turned to me, I folded my arms. My toes tapped as I waited for them either to apologize, kick me out, or let me stay.

They kicked me out.

Gandalf grabbed me by the back of my shirt collar and lifted me, protesting, out of the door. When he set me down, I tried to walk back in with him. Aragorn would surely argue my case.

"He is not well, Seville," Gandalf warned.

"I know," I replied. "But I've sworn to protect him, and that oath did not burn with the Ring, nor disappear with the eagles. Besides, I'm not sure I trust your healing methods." He frowned at that; I felt chastened for offending him, but wickedly glad I'd made a mark.

"You are under no more obligation until we are finished," Gandalf said before closing the door behind him. He locked it.

I sat down next to the door in a huff. Admittedly, I wasn't too irritated, just worried. Besides, in the recent times that Frodo and I had actually been apart, it had been because he was either dying or in trouble. I couldn't shake the feeling now. Not being able to see him haunted me. I paced along the floor until it seemed to beg me to stop.

The moment Gandalf and Aragorn stepped out, I tried to slip inside. But Gandalf locked the door behind him and glared at me before moving away. I frowned, then clambered out of one window, crossed to Frodo's window, and stepped in.

His face was not relaxed or calm. He looked tense, and was tossing. But his wounds appeared much better. I rubbed his forehead, quieting him. I laid another hand over his heart, and he initially felt for it, rubbing back.

I smiled despite myself, then leaned in and kissed his forehead, then his cheek. I was reluctant to leave him to become tense again. Despite myself I released him with one last stroke and retreated into the blackness.

A few minutes later, when Gandalf came in and finally left the door open, Frodo awakened. He sat up, spotting Gandalf. He spoke the wizard's name in disbelief. His tone was very sweet and joyous. I slipped back through the window.

Pippin and Merry were bouncing all over the bed, and Frodo was laughing, calling out to Gimli, Legolas, Aragorn, and Sam. They laughed and told of adventures they had, and then I peeked through the door.

Frodo's expression settled, and he smiled at me, very deeply. I tried to smile back, but I wondered if he was even happy to see me after all the horror we'd gone through.

He cocked his head, then patted the bed.

I walked up to him, reaching under Pippin to ruffle his hair.

"Devil," I said, "going to a volcano for a piece of jewelry. What on Earth am I supposed to do with you?"

Without further response than a chuckle, he moved to the side of the bed and embraced me, kissing my cheek long and deep.

"Do you feel better, Frodo?" I asked, chuckling despite myself.

He pulled back, his hands still on my shoulders. I rubbed one of his hands; he was alive, and although my blood pulled at his bitten finger, I held it back. This moment was too important for that. "Much better," he said. Then he sighed. "What of you?"

I shrugged. "I've seen happier, but I've also been a thousand times worse. I just want to get you home and safe."

Frodo nodded, then opened his mouth as though he were going to say something. In those moments, somehow, everyone else vanished. I don't know if they actually left in that moment, but all that existed was him.

His eyes were all I could see.

I felt deep down that I had to leave before he spoke again, that he was going to say something I needed to run away from. But I had to have a reason for it, too. I was going to die and couldn't get him more deeply attached . . . but I also had to say goodbye in some way. I lighted my lips on his forehead, a shifting eyelid, the tip of his nose, his cheek, and then finally very carefully on his own worn lips.

Then I pulled away, rubbed his head, and rounded the corner out of the door.

Once I had gone, I was breathing hard. I swallowed. I'd miss him so much, wherever I went after I passed on. I sank to the floor. Apparently they hadn't left. I wondered if those moments were just my imagination.

Then I felt my lips. No, I knew, somehow, with no explainable reason, that I had done it. I turned and tore away, down the hall.

The next day was Aragorn's coronation, and we all turned up for that. All the men and the rest of the Elves came, and Gandalf crowned the new king. I was standing next to Frodo, and could feel his heart lurching at something. I grabbed his hand, but that didn't seem to help. I wondered if something was traumatizing him, if I had stepped too far yesterday and he didn't want to think about it. In which case trying to comfort him would only make it worse.

Then, as I watched, Aragorn walked amongst his subjects, greeting Legolas and Lord Elrond. Then, from behind the silver Elvish banner stepped Arwen. She and Aragorn stared, disbelieving and loving, until he tucked her hair behind her ear. They smiled, and tears sprang to her eyes.

Then he kissed her, deeply. I cheered, and so did Pippin, waggling his eyebrows at me. I rolled my eyes . . . and then caught Frodo flicking his eyes at me. I cocked my head, shrugging exaggeratedly.

"What?"

He smiled and shook his head. "My novel dilemma," he said finally.

I gasped. "Aragorn and Arwen?" Then I frowned. "You didn't know them at the time. They couldn't have been your novel dilemma."

He shook his head.

I humphed. "Well, then, keep your secrets."

Then Aragorn approached. The five of us bowed, along with everyone else, but Aragorn shook his head. "No, my friends!" I eyed him curiously.

He knelt down and put a hand on one of Frodo's shoulders and one of mine. "You bow to no one," he said, and bowed, in turn, to us.

Eyes widening, I stood upright, although didn't feel the best about that. I turned to Frodo, and he seemed perplexed by Aragorn's gesture as well. I kissed his hand.

"I guess you did do something pretty awesome," I said quietly. He smiled gently and squeezed my hand.

We were fitted with royal robes, all five of us, and, after the many farewells, were sent on our way, back to the Shire. Merry knew, of all people, where to go, and after some time of travel, we could see the grasses and beautiful fields of the Shire. As we rode in, we passed a few of the rural folk. They eyed us curiously, shaking their heads and carrying on with their work.

Frodo insisted I set up somewhat at Bag End, which I did. We spent that very evening back in the Green Dragon . . . the tavern we hadn't been at for 13 months. When Rosie saw me, she embraced me and asked where I'd been.

"With Frodo," was the only response I had to that. She took it and we began dishing out ale. She told me, as the evening progressed, that it was significantly harder to do alone. I responded that any man that had flirted too hard in my absence would receive a bloody nose.

When Frodo came up, I told Rosie I'd take it. I filled four of the biggest mugs I could find, and Frodo picked them up, thanking me somewhat timidly. He had been on edge all day. I cocked my head and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Are you all right?" I asked.

He paused.

"Frodo, talk to me afterwards," I insisted, and he nodded. Then he picked his way over to the table where Sam, Merry, and Pippin were sitting. They each looked somewhat solemn and dismal. They clanked their glasses together and took a large mouthful each before sitting there quietly. Frodo kept stealing glances over his shoulder at me, and at some point, his eyebrows drew together. He wasn't sure about what to think, or so I assumed. I didn't know what to think either.

Sam glanced around, then finally spotted Rosie. His eyes grew wide, and his expression determined. She waved at him, then turned to me.

"What happened?" she asked.

I grinned. "Sam became a man," I warned. Rosie's expression did not change much, but I knew her well enough to sense disbelief, anxiety, excitement, and pride.

Sam set his mug back down and walked briskly over to the bar. I could see Pippin's eyes grow wide, Merry breathe anxiously, and Frodo begin to laugh before Sam settled into the chair in front of Rosie. He talked to her about flowers for a minute, but only a minute, before asking to court her.

I cheered to myself and rounded out of the bar, taking Sam's seat beside Pippin.

"How's it going?" Pippin asked anxiously.

I grinned. "It's going brilliantly."


	24. Wounds that Go Too Deep

Willation came to the Misty Mountains the next morning, and I received a thought from him to come immediately. I'd been looking after Frodo; he appeared no more settled at home, and I begged him to tell me. He said he felt like his purpose in life was finished, and he'd just leaped from a world of meaning and pain into a world where no one understood. No one except for me. And although he felt a little uncertain expressing what he felt (and probably actually resented it), he spoke sometimes.

I thought about him every minute as I departed. I didn't tell him I was going, but told Sam to tell him not to worry. But I worried.

It took me a few weeks to ride to the Misty Mountains, and I talked with Willation for what felt like an eternity. We talked about Sheratan, life on Lavwu, how we missed each other's company, things like that, until I received a letter on bird's wing (courtesy of Willation) . . . from Frodo.

It was a hypothetical letter he never meant to send, or so the letter began. He was begging me to come home, saying things were lonely enough, and then announcing that Sam was getting married to Rosie Cotton on October 8th.

"October 8th?" I cocked my head. "That was two weeks ago."

Willation paused. "No. You've been here for almost nine months."

My eyes widened. "No!" I sprang to my feet, leaping to the mouth of the cave at the base of the Misty Mountains. "I have to go, Willation!"

"Wait!" he called. I spun back, glaring a little.

"Look after Frodo. He will need it."

I nodded, thanking him, then leaped onto my horse. I spurred it to the West.

"I'm coming, Frodo," I said.

I reached Bag End two weeks before the wedding, leaped from my horse (who was lathered and needed some good rest), and sprang up to the door, knocking rapidly. When Frodo creaked the door open, I leaped into his arms. He staggered, surprised and exhausted, but embraced me just as fiercely once he recovered.

"Frodo!" I cried. I kissed his forehead, then hugged him again. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, Frodo." Tears pricked at my eyes. I scolded myself for being so ridiculously sensitive when it came to matters concerning him.

Frodo rubbed my back. "Oh, Sev," he said, lifting me a few inches off the ground. "Sev, it's so good to see you."

Then I pulled away. "Sam's getting married?"

Frodo nodded.

"That's wonderful!" I smiled, then faltered again. "Frodo, I am so sorry. I didn't know I was away for more than a month."

Frodo glanced at the floor. He looked hurt, but I didn't know what to say. I felt awful, and wondered if he would ever forgive me for it. "What were you doing?"

"Talking to an old friend of mine," I said.

"Willation," he guessed.

My eyes widened. "How did you know?"

He shrugged. "You've talked about him before, and he's only one of two you've ever really mentioned."

I talked with him long into the night. He was exhausted early in the morning, once I'd listened and joked and told stories long enough from the couch across from the fire, where he paced. I kissed his cheek before sending him to his quarters, and I slipped out onto the lawn.

The two weeks passed by quickly. Life didn't return to normal. Frodo hardly left Bag End, and sometimes, when I tried to get in, the doors were locked and he didn't respond to the knocking. I peeked in through the windows once, only to find him writhing and tossing about on his bed, clutching his shoulder. I tried to break open a window. That didn't work; the stone rebounded and hit me on the head. Some of my blood drained to that, and I didn't try again.

Then came Sam's wedding. He and Rosie showed up at Bag End almost simultaneously, Sam knocking first, and Rosie coming three seconds later. Sam spoke to Frodo, and Rosie talked to me, neither of them knowing both Sam and Rosie were there. She asked me to be a bridesmaid, and I swore I would. Then I embraced her, and she left.

Sam asked me if Frodo was all right. I told him he was in pain, and then let him leave.

Frodo stepped out a moment later. "Sev," he said, "I have something to talk to you about."

I glanced up at him. "Yes?"

Then he paused. "I have Bilbo's book, and am writing a new part to it," he said. My eyes widened and grew anticipatory.

"Where?"

He nodded at the desk, and I sprang over to it, flipping to the end of _There and Back Again_ , spotting one titled _Lord of the Rings_. I immediately began to read.

Of course, I was interrupted by the wedding, and as we all piled and packed near the ceremony, I couldn't help but think about that story. Frodo had started with a brief overview of the first fifteen years of his life, then jumped into the day we had met. I wondered at that, but didn't ask him.

I was brought back into the present as Sam kissed Rosie gently. When he pulled away, they both looked like they'd just found paradise. I smiled somewhat sadly; I knew Frodo and I never could. I'd asked Willation when I would die, and he said I had three years left. And I would spend every day with Frodo, and every night on the lawn of Bag End. I still didn't know whether to leave him with a real kiss or not . . . I didn't worry about its consequences for me, but didn't know what would happen to him. Would it scare him, scar him, or speak to him? I could not know.

Then Rosie threw her bouquet. Pippin caught it, and waggled his eyebrows at Tarrie. I smiled, then looked at Frodo. His expression faltered as well, and he turned to me.

The next three years, things in the Shire were very busy. Frodo locked the door more and more frequently, and lengthened our visits. Soon there was no continuum of feeling between them, but I sat at the door all day when he locked it.

Then I heard him talking to himself, one of those days.

"How do you go on? How do you pick up the threads of an old life? Then in your heart, you begin to realize . . . there is no going back."

My eyes widened at this, and I pounded at the door. Frodo, for once, unlocked it, and I scrambled inside on my hands and knees, laying against the floor.

"Sev," he said, "I didn't realize it was locked."

"It's locked often enough," I said. I stood and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Is something wrong?"

He nodded, wincing. "Sev . . ." He did not speak, just rubbed at his shoulder.

I suddenly understood. My face grew pained as well, and I pulled him into my arms. He sank to the ground, and I followed. "Oh, Frodo," I said, rubbing his back. "Frodo, I'm so sorry."

He shook his head against the jaw of mine. "There's nothing you could do."

I shook my head as well. "There is. I know I could do something . . ."


	25. The Grey Havens

Years passed that way. My life spent, and Frodo became the point of it. I watched him constantly, cared for him in sickness. There were times, during frequenting unconsciousness, when I could wake him up simply by touching his hand. I couldn't detect a pattern, and although I tried hard, nothing was to be found.

Then, one day, he finished his book.

I read it in a few hours. His calligraphy swooped across the pages, and I loved the words he wrote. But I skimmed it, because he told me he was taking the book to the Grey Havens when he dropped Bilbo off with the last Elvish ship to leave Middle Earth, and I figured I could finish it afterwards.

I dressed in my Gondor cloak for the journey, and so did Frodo. I gave him back the book, and I sat on the top of a hill, waiting for him.

Then I saw the coach, with Gandalf driving it, that would take Bilbo and Frodo to the harbor. Frodo clambered inside, and before he shut the door, he spotted me. He beckoned and patted the seat beside him.

I slipped into the coach and shut the door, crouching against it. He looked troubled.

"What is it?" I asked.

He nodded for me to settle against the cushion, and so I did. He laid an arm around my shoulders, and his opposite hand settled against mine, on my lap. I reached up and felt his bitten finger. He froze at the touch.

"Sev, I have to tell you something," he said. I looked up at him. The stars were pained, deeper than they had ever been. He opened his mouth, leaned in a little, and said, "I'm going with the Elves."

Realization cut through me like a poisoned knife. I choked, eyes threatening to pour immediately. "No . . . no!" I shook my head, backing away from Frodo, gripping and releasing his arm. "No, you can't! Frodo, don't you realize? You're giving up on life-!"

He reached for me with his other hand. "Sev, please understand. I told you, my life purpose is finished. I have nothing to live for but pain now, and you said you were going to die this month."

My eyes widened. "How did you-?"

He pulled my journal from within the folds of his cloak. He offered it to me, and I took it, fingers brushing against his hands. The book settled in my lap, and while I eyed it, his hands claimed mine, warming them, protecting them . . . about to leave them.

"I started it on the adventure, thinking it was a novel," he said. It had the latch on it, but now I remembered: Willation had given it said latch before I left for Middle Earth, and I had seen it there when I'd written in the journal about my ending days when I came home. Frodo continued. "But by the time I read the end I understood what it was."

The end talked about how Frodo had changed me.

I stared up into his eyes. Oh, how I would miss those eyes, and now not just when I died, but when he gave up on life, in only a matter of hours. I shook my head, not able to fathom that I would lose him. "How could you give up on life? If you read my journal, then how could you assume that pain is enough to drive you away?"

He glanced down at the floor. "Sev, it's not just pain. It's knowing that you will die regardless of what I do."

My eyes widened even farther. "What do you mean?"

Frodo slid over to me, then pulled me the rest of the way to him with an arm about my shoulders. He lifted my hair behind my ear; then his lips brushed my cheek, very gently and slowly, lingering as they were. "I love you, Sev," he said, kissing my cheek again as he backed away, "and I won't survive when you're gone. If you were to stay, maybe . . . but the pains are great enough without you."

Tears raced down my cheeks.

"Frodo, don't leave me."

I leaned into him, laying my shoulder underneath his. I put a hand over his heart and closed my eyes, feeling nothing else. A warm fizzle settled over it when his hand wrapped around mine, and he laid his head to my own as well.

About ten minutes later everything really sank in, and I could hear Gandalf greeting Bilbo. I backed away. I shook my head over and over, looking Frodo up and down. That pain, those stars, that bookishness, those hands. It would all be gone, just because of some cursed Ring and my own cursed lineage.

I turned, breaking out of the door and springing up the hill. I imagined I couldn't hear him calling out to me. I just kept running.

Finally I broke against my log. Sobs racked my lungs, and I convulsed. The pains were excruciating. I had never connected them to Frodo, but now . . . now I was sure they had to do with him.

I cried as long as I could before I realized I would have to clean myself up before leaving to say goodbye to Frodo forever. I straightened myself, threw the tears off, and walked briskly back down the hill. I mounted my horse, sharply turning it to the West. I raced ahead of the slowly moving group, who had brought a horse for Frodo's return journey.

But he wouldn't have one.

I urged the horse faster, racing in circles. My blood pounded. Frodo was leaving because I was going to die.

Why couldn't I cursed just let him live? Why couldn't I sacrifice something of my own to give him life? Why couldn't the darkness that grabbed him belong to me, if only to let him be happy? Why, why, why couldn't I do something for him?

He might have abandoned me at the last minute if the Elves weren't leaving so soon, but I allowed that alone.

Soon we reached the harbor beyond the White Towers, the Grey Havens. By the time they all came piling in with their horses, I had already dismounted and tied my own steed. I began setting up the others. Gandalf's horse we let go, for the carriage would not be returning. I helped Bilbo out, and Sam directed him down to the harbor.

Frodo approached me then.

"Sev," he said, placing a hand to my face. I froze, having imagined back in the Shire that I would never feel his hands again; apparently I still hadn't adapted to the idea. "I wish I could spend the rest of my life with you."

I swallowed. "You will. You're dying today, remember?" I turned and followed Bilbo down the steps. Frodo stood right next to me. We were both dismal; there was nothing more to say of it.

Then I looked at him.

"There's one more thing I have to say."

He glanced at me.

"I told you there was good in this world, and that it was worth fighting for." I paused, not able to meet his eyes for a moment. "You are the good I'm fighting for," I said, "and I will never stop fighting for you."

His hand held my upper arm. So strong and yet he couldn't take it.

Bilbo, once we reached the base and the harbor emptying into the sea, glanced up. Elrond, Celeborn, and Galadriel waited there. "This is a sight I never thought I would see!" Bilbo exclaimed.

Elrond gestured to the ship. "The sea calls us home," he said in Elvish.

Bilbo nodded. "I think I'm ready for another adventure." He then joined the three elves on the ship. Galadriel smiled deeply at Frodo, and he simply glanced at her. He grabbed my hand, and I squeezed it back. Then I brought it to my lips, finally laying it against my cheek. Frodo held the other side of my face with his opposite hand. His hands were gentle, and I'd memorized the feel of them, even though I'd never really had them for long. I opened my eyes and remembered his face. I wanted to keep the image forever. His thumb brushed my lower lip very gently, as though he were studying something, which wasn't unlikely. I wanted so badly to kiss him in that moment, as though that would drain his troubles, as though I could make him want to stay.

Gandalf stood in front of us. "Farewell," he said, a slightly sorrowful smile coming to his face. I released Frodo; the hobbits immediately began to well with tears. They seemed to hardly know where to look. Unlike the rest, Frodo looked almost hard, not ready to break entirely. "Do not think it awful to mourn," Gandalf said, "for not all tears are evil."

Tears pricked at my own eyes, and I shook Gandalf's hand before he turned and walked to the ship.

I backed away from the hobbits' group as Gandalf turned to Frodo. My stomach tensed and my eyes pricked. "It is time, Frodo," Gandalf said, and I broke down; tears raced down my face, seeming myriads following each other. Somehow a part of me thought that Frodo had been confused, or lying. But Gandalf had slammed the truth to me like a mace to the head.

Shocked, the other hobbits turned to Frodo. "What does he mean?" Sam asked.

Frodo turned to Sam. "Sev and I set out to save the Shire. And it has been saved . . . but not for me." He held up Bilbo's book, turned to me, and laid it into my hands. "There are a few pages left," he said, "and they are for you, Sev."

 _What makes you think the end of my life will be better for writing than the end of yours?_ His eyes begged me to keep it, though, and it was the last piece of Frodo I could hold for the rest of my life. So I did; I wrapped my arms around it, as though it were enough to make him stay. As though I were holding him, not words that he had written.

Then he turned to Merry, and they embraced for a long moment. He moved to Pippin, then to Sam. Then he looked at me. I set the book down, and when he approached, I held him fiercely, cutting off sobs of my own. Tears sank into his cloak, and I shook my head ever so slightly. It was as though I could catch him before he ran away if I just got him thinking hard enough. But soon I would be gone, and nothing I could do would change that.

He coaxed away by rubbing my shoulders reassuringly. I bit my lip. It would be a painful, horrid month before I finally shriveled into nothing, but at least only a month.

Then Frodo lifted a hand to my head, tilting it slightly down. He gently lighted his lips to my forehead, then deepened it. When he released, he lifted my face to look at him. I could hardly stare into his eyes; they had been so bright—now tainted with sorrow and ready to leave this world.

"Oh, Sev," he said. A strange light flickered in his eyes, and he lifted his hand. His fingers brushed my lips as he studied them. I felt anxiety building in the very fibers of my being, emotions crowding me on so many different levels. This kiss would be a long one. I leaned up, so much to express with so little time to do it. Then he pressed his lips to mine. Knowing these were my last moments with Frodo, I sank into it, letting my hands travel to his shoulders. The first and last time I would ever really kiss him, the last time I could really let him know I cared about him more than anything else, that he was home.

That vibration again—that odd, yet insanely powerful, draining. It coursed through my hands, better than any injury I'd ever attempted to pull. The moment they began, Frodo deepened the kiss, and my head fizzled; how he managed to do that and stay conscious, I had no idea. I rested my hands on his shoulders until the vibration ceased, and when they did, I slowly (and hesitantly) lifted away from Frodo. Assuming the kiss had felt as good as I'd imagined it to, it was only a small surprise that my blood suddenly flowed smoothly, running more fully and powerfully than it had since I'd seen Alshain.

"Frodo, I-,"

Then I glanced at Gandalf. He was eyeing Frodo curiously.

"Frodo, let me see your wound."

Then I looked at Frodo. His eyes were a thousand times brighter, his expression three hundred times less pained. He handed me his cloak and vest, then unbuttoned his shirt to show the wound . . . or, at least, where it should have been. The black mark had been replaced by a simple white scar. Then to Shelob's wound; nothing more than a small white dot indicated where he had been stabbed so viciously.

He smiled up at Gandalf, somewhat hopeful.

"I think it wise, Frodo, to say that you should stay," he said with a broad smile, kneeling down and laying a hand on Frodo's shoulder.

"But Sev-,"

"Will live," Gandalf said. "She has drained a wound that is permanent. She will never run out of blood now, not with those wounds coming back enough to keep her alive."

My eyes widened.

How to fix my blood.

It made so much sense.

Overjoyed, I threw my arms around Frodo's neck and kissed him deeply. He held me as well, and when I finally broke away, Gandalf laughed, waving a goodbye and turning. He stepped onto the ship, and the five of us watched it sink into the horizon.

It was still a sorrowful day of parting from Gandalf and the last of the Elves . . . but I was so glad I had Frodo. I had him forever, and I wouldn't die either. I'd healed him. I'd brought him peace, a new life. And for the second time since I'd met him, he'd done the same for me.


	26. Home at Last

I tied our horses to the front of the coach, and they knew where to follow Sam's horse to. Frodo and I clambered into the coach, and as we rolled home, I laughed and talked with him.

Then, after a minute or two, I sighed and laid my head on his shoulder. He was changed, but I could sense that good humor that had disappeared the moment the Ringwraiths came to us. I hadn't known that Frodo for a long time. But now it was better, because now he understood the pain I'd lived with my whole life.

When we reached home, late into the evening, we raced back to the Green Dragon. I told Frodo we had to celebrate him staying in the Shire, and so we did. They sang one of their most ridiculous songs that night, Cat and the Moon. I laughed and danced with them.

When I finally teetered into the lawn later that night, Frodo invited me inside for just a moment. I still insisted on sleeping on the lawn, but could spare a minute or two. Although the night had been a merry one, the moment I entered Bag End . . . I started to sniffle.

Frodo stopped at the door before closing it. "Sev?"

I shook my head. "I . . ." I shook it harder. "I was going to lose you." I laughed and threw it off, trying to hold it all back. "You were leaving. I guess it just hit me right then, pretty hard—," I choked and collapsed onto the couch.

Frodo sat down next to me, but I didn't want him to comfort me. I just wanted to have him. I consented to have his arm around my shoulder for a few minutes, but ended up laying his head under mine. I pressed my lips lightly to the top of his head, rubbing his hair from the side opposite me. Overjoyed and shocked at having him, really having him there, I kissed his head three more times before I held it to my shoulder.

"But you stayed."

Frodo smiled and looked up. His face was so sweet, and I cupped it in my hands.

"And you also have to go to sleep now," I insisted, kissing his forehead as deeply and sweetly as I dared.

Frodo sighed, but he didn't look too upset. He released me from the house, "walking me back to the lawn." We laughed and talked about Sam and Rosie, mostly. I faltered when I wondered if . . . well, if I could ever be that for Frodo, what Rosie had been for Sam.

As I sat down on the couch, I realized Frodo made no movement toward me, or toward Bag End. I cocked my head at him, unsure what he intended by staying out here. He couldn't stay awake all night. He looked a little distant, watching me but not quite.

"Are you all right?" I asked.

He didn't seem to snap out of it, just nodded and sat down next to me. No matter how many years I spent with him, I couldn't seem to break the flutters in my pulse whenever I saw or felt him beside me.

Although I thought about kissing him rather intently that night, I only let my gaze flicker to his lips once, and I hoped he didn't notice. I didn't want to shove anything on him, even if in theory he liked it more than I did.

Frodo adjusted, turning toward me slightly. I swallowed as his hands very gently framed my face. I could feel every fingertip individually. He brought my head toward him, and he kissed my forehead ever so carefully. But every moment he stayed I could feel my consciousness dissipating; dizziness took over.

He pulled away, and I couldn't help but produce probably the silliest, most twitterpated smile I ever have in my life. "Good night, Frodo," I said. I expected him to pull away, to leave me . . . but he didn't. He just watched me.

After a small hesitation, Frodo's lips brushed mine. Our first kiss had been so desperate, so pained, that this one almost blew it away. His lips were so sweet and gentle, I allowed the kiss—while not deep—to remain for a long moment before I pulled away. He looked like he wanted to continue it, but he pushed nothing. He seemed to settle himself, and I had no doubt he had internally convinced himself more would come tomorrow. My heart thudded.

"Good night, Sev," he said.

With one final stroke to my cheek, he turned and walked back inside. I flopped onto the couch, with nothing better to say or do for it. I still felt a little dizzy.

Two birds lighted onto the fence. Both were injured, each with a broken leg. But they cared for each other. I smiled at them, wishing them all the luck in the world. They flew off then.


	27. The Understated Sappy Scenes

The next morning Frodo awakened me just before sunrise, and we raced to the highest hill in all the Shire. He pointed to the cresting light as I joined him, held beneath his arm.

"Sev," he said, "another day I didn't think I would see."

I smiled, leaning into him. "I didn't think you would either." I ruffled his hair, still nervous around him but not in the same way. "Devil. You running out on me like that."

"You were going to first."

"I had no choice." I got right up in his face . . . and it was only a moment or two before we both broke out laughing.

Then Frodo settled a little. He laid a hand on my head, letting it trace down my face. Then he pulled a jeweled ring from his pocket, eyes never leaving mine.

"Sev," he said, finally looking at the ring in his hand, "when I said I wanted you to live the rest of my life with me, I meant it." Then he glanced up at me. "And you were the one who talked about, if you ever were to marry anyone-,"

"It would have been you," I said, my face turning bright red. I settled into his arm around my shoulder and kissed his forehead. "I absolutely will." I kissed the tip of his nose. "Assuming, of course, that ring is meant as a request."

He nodded almost imperceptibly, and slipped it onto my finger. His hand slid through my hair, catching the back of my head, and he brought my lips to brush his own. He kissed me three more times, each moment gentler and a little more distanced than the last.

That was a day of rest before the whirlwind of preparation.

Rosie helped me mostly, and it was a huge blur of intense work. I hardly saw Frodo in the days leading up to the wedding, but tried not to pay it mind. I didn't like the solemnity or variable in thinking of it as the most important, romantic day of my life; who needed romance when you had Frodo?

The ceremony wasn't much to speak of, except that being kissed by Frodo again (this time more deeply) was plenty for me to remember. Basically we had planned on having a small kiss, like that of Rosie and Sam to ignite the same serenity in everyone else as theirs had. But I suppose originality was truly called for; the moment Frodo and I simultaneously pulled away, he had only to study my face for a second before he pulled me back to him, and his lips held mine deliberately. That and I suppose my dress made me look like a completely different person; unlike everything else I owned it was fitted. Later in the day, though, as we ran home, I remember walking inside and heading straight for the quarters which I now shared with Frodo.

"What are you doing?" he asked, slipping an arm about my waist. "I thought you wanted to read here."

I nodded. "One does not simply read in a wedding dress," I said.

"And one does not simply wait for Sev to get out of a wedding dress and into something else," Frodo said, lifting me off my feet. I sighed happily and ruffled his hair as he sat me down perpendicular to himself on his knees, and we poured over his story Lord of the Rings. I really should have noticed before that he mentioned me a lot, but really tried not to pay it mind now. He emphasized it vocally, though.

"See? Right there," he'd say.

I blew a raspberry. "You weren't 33 yet. You didn't know what was wrong with you." Eventually, though, as the story approached his 33rd birthday, that argument became a moot point. My only comfort was that, upon meeting me, Frodo thought me a somewhat creepy eccentric and had a hard time reaching out. At least I now knew his opinion of me from so early on.

Later that night, he was exhausted, and I laid him down in bed. I kissed his forehead and turned to go, but he muttered after me.

"And where are you going?"

It was the first night I could spend in Bag End, but I didn't. I told him I was going for a run, that I had too much energy to rest. He consented to that and did his best to fall asleep. My lips brushed his cheek, and he turned over, letting them come to his own.

I sighed, bringing him up into my arms for a moment. I never had to let him go, ever again. I caressed his head, kissed his cheek, his forehead, his nose, his lips.

"I love you, Frodo," was all I managed to say before having him in my arms became too much. A few seconds and I was out the door.

After transitioning from a wedding dress into something just a bit more comfortable, I raced around the Shire. The beautiful Shire, the home I would share with Frodo, the home I thought I would have to leave. I sighed to myself and sat down on a hill, waiting for morning, when I could go wake him up . . . kiss him good morning like I'd always wanted to do.

He came and found me, though.

There were mornings I did wake him up, whether I stayed at home or counted the stars. We did that a lot . . . counted stars, ate food, read books, danced and sang. We were friends bonded closer together than ever before. Admittedly, though, some mornings were harder than others. Tarrie's birthday was that day, a few weeks later. I raced back to Bag End, trying to be as quiet and yet as hinting as possible that Frodo ought to get up.

When I entered the room, I was fairly sure I had not awakened him. Impatiently I knelt down next to him, let my lips to his own, waiting for him to realize that I was there. After a minute or two he kissed me back, and I shot to my feet, headed for the door.

"No time! Tarrie's birthday! Frodo—!" I knew looking him in the eyes would be my downfall that morning. They shimmered dangerously. I wanted to kiss him, deep this time, but I couldn't. I'd be distracted all day if I did.

"No?" I asked, kneeling down. I already knew what he was thinking. I didn't need to ask. He shook his head. He already knew that I knew. I sighed, trying not to look at him. "I guess I'm just a little anxious," I admitted. "I'm sorry." I pecked his lips again, only to be drawn back in the moment I tried to back away. His arms caught me, and his lips trapped my own. I knew nothing until my cloak bunched beneath me when I collapsed on his lap, and he gently released me. My brain tingled, and my eyes flickered open. He looked completely unfazed.

"Remind me to do that every morning," I muttered. His lips met mine again, and I kept sitting up holding the back of his head with both hands.

"Seville Baggins," he would say sometimes, least of all during that day. I tried not to turn pink, and he tried to get me to turn pink. I had a last name . . . and a family. Life became a joy, then, comfortable even if neither of us had something to say, or if his wounds were pulsing and my blood ran low.

There were some days, though, when I had to let go, had to let him be with someone else for a change. I would be bitter sometimes, then read Lord of the Rings and remember he had been going to leave. Then he would come home almost in the middle of the night, still fresh and laughing from some joke Pippin had told him or something he'd told Sam and Rosie about how lovely they were together.

After those dark moments of imagining I would lose him, he looked so bright and sweet, happier and more handsome than ever before. I would drag him into my arms, and . . . I couldn't kiss him enough. I almost imagined that any feature I didn't catch I couldn't keep if he left. As I ranted about the Grey Havens and the Ring we would sit on the couch side by side, and my lips brushed every inch of his face. He appreciated those nights, he told me . . . until the moment I felt so invigorated by having him around that I put him in bed and ran away for the night.

Sometimes I stayed, but usually I stood or paced in the front room. I never would let Frodo know if I stuck around, and I didn't often see him. Perhaps I would tidy things periodically, or read on the couch while I watched the fire and thought about Frodo. Usually something odd would have happened earlier in the day; in one particular case, something stressful came to mind. Rosie had just suffered the loss of one in childbirth. The entire Shire mourned for a small amount of time . . . but Rosie had been about to name the child after me. Seville Gamgee, the little girl that perished in her mother's arms, her face blue with lack of breath. I wanted to heal the girl, but Sam buried her before I could even ask. The loss hit me dreadfully.

That evening I thought Frodo was at home. I had come back to Bag End to ponder what had happened, to mourn the loss of the young one. It was so late at night. I stood before the fire, tears drained from my eyes until I had to blink repeatedly to chase the sting of dryness away. The flames flickered, reminding me of the life I could have given and the life that had been taken away. Two powerful forces, as vibrant and alive as the fire and the oxygen it consumed, conflicting with mortality caught between them.

I shivered and pulled my arms tighter around myself. Although I was bundled rather nicely in thick leggings and a huge white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to my elbows, the room was still too cold . . . too dead. I wanted to go awaken Frodo, beg him not to leave me alone right at a moment like this. But I refused to get him up. So I simply stood.

Then I heard the door behind me creak open and click shut. I spun, surprised to see him standing there. He glanced at me.

"I thought you were gone," he said.

"And I thought you were here," I replied. I glanced at the floor. "You heard about Rosie?"

He nodded. "I was just there," he said. "I told Sam you might have been able to help, but he told me nothing could be done."

"He told me the same," I said, glancing at the floorboards, then back at the fire. I tried not to stiffen as Frodo approached behind me.

"It hurts, doesn't it?" he asked. His tone was kind, not accusatory at all. My eyes slipped closed, my head bowed. I turned back to him, just barely.

I nodded. "Yes. Very much." I turned my head away again. I couldn't look at him for fear I would fall into his arms sobbing. I bit my lip, staying perfectly still. The girl . . . she had Sam's lovely hazel eyes. They were open for a shivering moment before she had passed away.

I swallowed when Frodo's hand laid on my shoulder. I settled a little bit, actually teetering ever so slightly on my feet with my initial need to have him close. Then a pause followed, and his fingers roamed my upper arm, gently and lightly experimenting, as though he had never touched me, or a baggy sleeve, before. As he neared his other hand graced my opposite shoulder, doing the same. Very methodical and very careful, Frodo's hands slipped beneath my arms, and he held me to him by the waist. I sighed, leaning back on my heels. Angled away from him, I actually stood an inch shorter. His head settled on my shoulder, his gentle cheek against mine.

"Sev?"

I turned my head, and his jaw resettled against the top of it. Then I pulled away from him, although his arms still surrounded me rather loosely, and I faced him. My palms laid against his shoulders as he pulled me a little bit closer. I never wanted him to leave me, and I realized, with the sudden death of Rosie's child, that someday Frodo would be gone too. I began to tremble.

"Yes?"

His hands slid from my back, over my shoulders. He gripped the front folds of my vest, and his forehead met mine. "You're shivering," he said questioningly. His voice was soft, young.

I shook my head ever so slightly, and he pulled back. "Frodo, I'm frightened," I responded, trying to be honest—wanting him to help—but unsure if he could take it. A choke tried to rise, and I shoved it down.

He cocked his head.

"Rosie has lost one." I shook my head, glancing away. "I guess I'm just reminded that—," I bit my lip. I couldn't look up at him. I could imagine his countenance growing more pained and more confused. I didn't want to finish. But he wanted to know. I swallowed back my emotions and plowed through. "Someday I'll lose you too."

I could say nothing more. Frodo's eyes accented with concern, even as I tried to back off, tried to leave him alone for fear I wanted too much. "Oh, Sev . . ." He embraced me, and I held him back, tears trickling out of my eyes. His hands rubbed my shoulders reassuringly. "You have me for now," he said, doing his best to be reassuring. "I'll be here for you, I promise."

I swallowed, my throat shifting against his shoulder. "Only for so long."

He pulled back, and his fingers framed my face, locking me in front of him. My eyes flickered open; his thumb absorbed the tears coming from them. "No," he said. "I'll never leave you. We'll figure it out, Sev. You'll die with me."

An overwhelming peace washed over me, and I studied him intently at that moment. I couldn't die with him . . . and yet something, Willation's voice perhaps, told me I could. That I would. That somehow everything would be all right. That somehow I could believe the wonderful things that Frodo said, that he knew what he was talking about.

His eyes flickered over my face. He knew something had changed perhaps in my mind, but he said nothing. He didn't need to. His lips touched mine, deepened after a moment. His arms wrapped around my shoulders, brought me to him. After he had finished, he embraced me hard.

"I'll always love you, Sev," he said, his voice muffled in my shoulder.

"I love you too," I replied, letting it out in somewhat of a contented sigh. I settled against him. "And I'll never stop fighting for you." I gripped the back of his shirt, not ready to let him go.

I sent him to bed when I felt better, and then I sat out on the front walk, settling into the blackness of the night. I felt like Seville Gamgee could see me. I waved at the stars. We were all right. Frodo made it better.

On that note . . . while engaged, for the two seconds I talked to Frodo he asked me one question.

"How big do you want our family, Sev?"

I felt a little lurch at this. I couldn't have children. If he'd read my journal he would know, so I didn't know why he was asking. But deciding to fantasize, I rambled on about having as many children as possible. He looked shocked, but asked when, following the wedding, I wanted to try. I shivered at the thought and told him I would need plenty of time to adjust. He told me to let him know when I was ready.

Rosie asked the same thing, only this time after we were married: "Sev, you love Frodo. When will we see a little one in Bag End?"

I told her outright. "I can't have children, Rosie." The words out of my mouth started a pang, a stab to my soul I didn't think could ever go away. I was afraid to ever speak of it again, and I didn't meet her eyes for the remainder of that evening.

Frodo approached me about it the night Rosie asked. I couldn't handle the solemnity of it anymore, so I sat down on the couch. He sat next to me, and for a minute I just needed some comfort. Not much; that would be far too great a deal to ask. So I looped his arm around my shoulders, for the first time in my life. I felt a false sense of security for a moment. Because apparently he couldn't do everything. He had no idea what was going on.

"I'm still an anti-creature, Frodo. My blood is still black . . . ish." Then I had a thought. It didn't take much to distract him, and didn't take much to make me feel better for doing at least something pleasurable for him. I brushed my lips to his cheek, his forehead, his nose. My face tingled. At least I had him; I needed nothing more. "You're all the family I've ever had, and I do not ask for more." My lips met his, and the moment he kissed me back I settled myself in my resolve. No, I did not need a bigger family, but I burned for one. I didn't want to make an effort that night, emotionally or physically. So I slept on the floor.

Well, I tried to sleep. But the self-consciousness, the realization that I was too dark to bring any kind of creature into this world, the understanding that I would bring the Baggins line to a sudden halt, that I could never raise a family with Frodo, carved into me like my own fingernails, then like the claws of a Nazgul's dragon. The next thing I knew, I had hiccupped back a sob, and tears clambered down my face. I closed my eyes; Frodo didn't have to know. He wouldn't want to know. I had to be quiet, couldn't wake him up.

I heard a scuffle behind me as he tossed. I curled up into myself, wishing I could just get up and hold him in my arms for a minute. I needed that comfort, to rest his shoulders in my hands and lay his head on my heart. Or maybe just sit on the couch all night curled in a ball with his arms around me, lay my own forehead on his chest. I just needed him, and I didn't care how.

Admittedly I thought I was imagining things when his fingers traced my cheek. I reveled in the simple contact until I realized he was actually there, for he pulled away sharply. My initial reaction, I swept the tears off. He didn't need to know, couldn't want to know. I protested rather openly, but Frodo was surprisingly adamant. He pulled me to my feet, and I was quiet. The contours of his hand in my fingers calmed me a little bit, and I brushed my lips to his knuckles as we walked into the front room, where the fire sizzled and cracked.

He gestured for me to sit down first. Once I got down on the couch, I felt rigid, and sat accordingly. But when Frodo sidled next to me, I couldn't help it. I curled into a ball; his arm surrounded my shoulders protectively. The world faded from before my eyes as I laid my head on his shoulder, and tears blurred it all. Seeking to somehow stay alive through this internal madness, my hand left my lap and laid over his heart. I swallowed, eyeing it. The thrumming pulse—repeating to me that Frodo was alive, that I could feel him—calmed me, and I burrowed deeper into his side, determined to stop thinking, stop living, stop breathing because of everything I'd done to him, to myself. If I'd known he hadn't known I was barren I might not have accepted his offer, to marry him. Only when he began to speak did I stiffen.

"We can try, at least." Of course he would say that. He didn't feel as much at stake as I did, and it probably mattered less generally to men than to women. I had asked Rosie and knew my assumption to be the case, at least with Sam. "Something might have changed." Not likely.

"All right." I had to submit. I had no choice. It would kill me, but I would try.

My eyes slipped closed when Frodo's lips gently brushed my forehead, hung just above my face as they moved to my cheek. The side of his face met mine, and the sudden flow of warmth as well as my sorrowful reception of his rather gracious expression brought a prick to my eyes.

"I still love you, Sev," he said against my ear.

My voice was muffled in his shoulder. "I love you too." Frodo couldn't have known how much I meant it in that moment. He pulled away, and his other arm surrounded my curled form. He lowered his lips to meet mine, and when I kissed him back I could feel that despair, the realization of what I had done to him and to his family line, draining through the bittersweet ecstasy of at least belonging to Frodo. And loving everything he did for me.

He truly was my best friend, even when I did silly and discouraging things. And I always wanted to be there for him . . . even when he did ridiculous stuff. This was not one of those times.

I assumed he would want to go back to sleep; I didn't, so I pulled away to leave him. But his arms were holding me too close, I could only back up so far. Our lips still touched, but I could speak.

"Thank you, Frodo. I could never ask for a more wonderful friend." And I meant it.

Whether he really believed me or not it hit him hard to have me say that. His hand raced up my back, held my neck as he sealed the gap between us. More than anything—even beyond the dizziness of exactly how wonderful kissing him felt—I felt sincerity as his hand traveled to my cheek. His fingers framed my face, as though guarding one part of me from the other. When he broke away, his head tilted to the other side, and his lips caught mine again. Needless to say, I didn't sleep that night. I paced, and Frodo did his best to accommodate my restlessness. He was in bed all day the next day, exhausted, and I felt awful.

Sometimes a false hope would be there, a sense that I truly could provide a family. After many months, however, that hope waned. It would rise and fall; I did my best to keep myself busy. Frodo noticed, and consoled me often.

Not all times were filled with despair, although that idea recurred in my life. I stayed out on the lawn really late one night. I hadn't realized how late it was getting; the stars were so beautiful. I remembered that night in Mordor, when I had seen that Frodo's eyes rivaled the stars for simple, sweet brilliance. I cackled to myself at the thought. I liked him so much. Best friend. I never wanted anybody else.

Then I heard feet on the lawn. I didn't get up; it was somebody I liked, potentially Rosie or Sam if not Frodo. Or somebody I could tackle if they happened not to be friendly. Someone else's hair brushed against my head. I hoped it was Frodo. I liked Frodo.

"Well, Sev?" His voice ignited a moment of pleasured luck in my pulse.

My head turned. "Well, what?"

"Are you coming in?"

I blinked. I realized it was rather late, but I decided to cover up my ignorance.

"I don't know. It's not every night Frodo stays up late enough to let me just sit out here during the summer and look at all this." Then a snicker rose in me. A perfect time to express something that had to be said in a non-solemn setting. "He ought not to feel guilty about that. Sev likes kissing him before he's asleep."

Frodo just rolled right along with it. I love him so much . . . "And to wake him up."

I wanted to go sit by him, but didn't have the heart to. I didn't know exactly what he wanted, and felt the need to prod a little more. So I simply rearranged myself, positioned parallel to him, a few feet away. "Devil. Spying on a girl and her husband like that; you should be ashamed of yourself."

"You can't possibly feel any better for knowing all of her feelings." Humor bubbled up within me. "And telling her husband exactly what they are."

My eyes widened, half in jest and half because he had just opened an opportunity for me that I never could have pressed myself. I turned, glanced at him—to the demise of my evil convictions. His eyes stopped me until I regained focus. "Oh, I haven't said all of them." He just looked so wonderful. One of his eyebrows raised as he surveyed me.

"I have many secrets of her feelings." I beckoned to him, and to my surprise he came closer. "She likes him a lot." I couldn't believe I had this opportunity to express. "In fact, they say that's why she married him."

"Is he really so bad as that? Sev would have to like him to marry him?"

I choked back a cackle. "I hear tell he's a devil. Just like you are; how interesting is that?" Frodo wasn't so far away now, and I rolled within inches of him. We started laughing with the built tension, but he didn't let it last long. He studied me rather intently, and I could feel my pulse rise. His voice grew settled, very sweet and apprehensive.

"So I'm a devil, just like him." He propped himself up on his elbow, and I did the same, only left my level slightly lower. His hand cupped my face, and I leaned into it just a little bit. His fingers had only grown more familiar, gentler as time passed; I only wanted them more. He leaned in to me, his face so close. "And you're just like her. So I'll tell you . . ." His lips touched my forehead. "That I think . . ." His fingers traced where a kiss soon followed on each cheek. ". . . Frodo likes her too." He came so close then. "And I know he loves her. More than anything."

He had been about to claim my lips with his own, but I had something more to say. I backed off, in spite of what I wanted. Probably not ready to back down, he carefully kissed my cheek, my forehead, the tip of my nose as I spoke. "Aww," I said, wishing I could just let it all go, but I had to say it first. "That's the sweetest thing I've ever heard." I meant that; he backed away when I finished. His face was illuminated by the distant glow of a full moon; it shimmered across his eyes like the light within him. I held his face, thumbed the skin of his cheek. "A good thing she loves him too." My eyebrows wiggled. "More than anything."

I hadn't pulled back very far; it didn't take long for Frodo's lips to brush mine, for that gap to be closed for a solid minute or so as I caught the back of his head with my hands, and he pulled me to him. When it finally broke, I knew I'd have to run around for a while. I told him I wanted to be with him until I died . . . and after. I could feel emotions tossing in my stomach like a strong wind throwing leaves and little bits of things here and there, and I broke away, racing out of Bag End. I knew he didn't like that; but I couldn't stay home and torture the Troneterra out of him.

I came back to wake him up early the next morning, but before I could say or do anything, his expression twitched. I paused, cocked my head. He was dreaming, or something. He tossed a little bit. I sat down on the bed beside him, trying hard not to awaken him.

A few moments later, as Willation had promised would happen when Frodo dreamed anything, I slipped into it with him. The world descended into sharp black and white, illuminated by what appeared to be the sun through the window behind us. Frodo's eyes were wide open, and a hand cupped his face, tracing it carefully. His eyes flickered; suspicion, fear, and apprehension filled him as he turned. I did as well . . . and saw Smeagol, before he had become Gollum, caressing Frodo in that sort of wistful, fatherly way. Had I not known what Smeagol was truly like, I wouldn't have started to growl.

Frodo recoiled into the pillows, unsure how else to fight back. Smeagol's expression did not change from its mournful state. Frodo sat up abruptly when the hand changed sides, and so intent became his stress that, like Willation had suggested I not, I put my hand to his shoulders, rubbing a little bit. They were impossibly tense, dipping in the middle more hugely than usual. My fingers flicked through his hair, somehow trying to combat Smeagol.

Frodo turned to me, his eyes wide. I knew he probably couldn't see me. He glanced down, fearful, at my hand, and I knew I had done something wrong. But then he picked up my hand with both of his, flipping it over, staring at it. He glanced back up at me, searching for something. It was about then that the world began to fade back into dark color, and Smeagol vanished. I let my hand to Frodo's face, glad he hadn't truly felt all that with the other hobbit.

Relief flooded his eyes, and he turned to kiss my palm. He pulled my hand from his cheek with both of his own and brushed his lips against my fingers, knuckles, the back of my hand, repeatedly. Sympathy and chills of worried apprehension as well as bittersweet enjoyment overwhelmed me; this wasn't normal. He was kind to me, but this took it to a sorrowful level. Then he caught my jaw with the tip of his finger, and he kissed my cheek, my forehead. His lips brushed mine, once, twice, again, and again until they stayed. I hadn't realized the dream was so stressful, and I held him.

"Are you all right?"

He swallowed. "Smeagol has not left yet."

I pulled back, flicking my gaze over his face. I caressed his forehead with my fingers and let them fall. I could see and feel, with my pains, his wound overflowing with blackness. I let my hand against his heart, feeling the weakening pulses. Then my fingers gently traced the black reservoir, and the intense draining filled me as the blackness receded. I waited until the skin folded and sealed into a white scar, then flattened my palm against it as though to solidify it. My eyes caught his again; some level of pain had left them, and his heart thrummed all the more powerfully. "Neither have I."

He kissed me again; this one was deep and abiding, like I wanted to be for him.

Sometimes he would kiss me deeply in daylight . . . in the company of other hobbits, which I was shocked at just a little (Pippin's eyebrows went wild at moments like those). Apparently Frodo had been warming up to it before; initially he thought it intimidating to kiss me first.

We danced often as well, and celebrated his birthday every year; actually, we considered it both of ours (at his suggestion; birthdays hadn't been a positive experience for me), and had twice the energy and celebration. My favorite nights were not the celebrated ones, though. I liked just being with him when I could. Once we danced under the stars, and I had a sudden urge to feel his heart. I put my hand over it, and he slowed to a halt. I kissed him with all the stars looking on, and hoped Willation could see it.

I remember, though, one night in particular, when the day had been rather rainy. I loved rain. Frodo had joined me, and soon we were soaking wet. After drying off, I collapsed on the couch in the front room before the fire. I thought again about Frodo leaving, and I felt my neck where the scar was. I'd never seen it, it was so high up. It pained a good deal most of the time, but I'd never told Frodo it existed, and he didn't seem to notice it.

About then Frodo stepped inside, still tracking a little water. I didn't realize he'd come in until he stepped closer, looking rather curious. He eyed my fingers.

"Sev?"

I glanced up and shook my head, not sure if I could let my hand fall. He'd see it. I still somehow felt a little uncomfortable at letting him be sympathetic, if nothing else for sake of feeling he couldn't be perfectly capable of all sincerity in being so kind so often. I tried to rub against it casually, but the wound flared, and I sucked in a breath. "It's nothing. To worry about, that is," I said. He lifted an eyebrow. "Just the adventure . . . been thinking about it a little bit."

Frodo sat down on the opposite side of me, staring intently at my eyes. I wouldn't look at him until I felt pulled. I glanced up, and, with one arm across the back of the couch, Frodo took my hand that had rested over my neck and set it down on my lap. His eyes softened, and the arm above my shoulders left the couch. He gently tipped my chin up, and one finger settled against the scar. I swallowed as it tingled; it hurt, but it was the good kind of pain. The healing kind, with those prickles of being cared for so much following it. My blood recognized Frodo as its source, and accordingly tried to mend my permanently broken flesh.

"What happened?"

I shook my head against his gentle hand. "Just the Ring."

Frodo lowered his hand from my head, tracing his finger in a circle over the scar. My eyes closed; it was like running crystal water over a sore stab wound. "Sev, it looks awful." Some of the scab fell away, ripping at my neck, and my eyes clenched closed. "Does it hurt?"

I shrugged, flicking my eyes away. To Troneterra with telling him. He was only asking because he wanted to be a kind person.

The good devil. Loving him was only unnerving during those early years.

"Sev . . ."

"Yes, all the time," I said quickly. I didn't want to lie to him, but I didn't need sympathy, particularly if it was on my behalf in a way that he didn't feel all the way down. "I promise, I don't need you to—,"

Frodo didn't wait for me to finish. I curled into a defensive ball as he pulled me to him, laying my ear against his chest. I could hear his heart race. Maybe he actually wanted me there; I wasn't sure. Most of my sympathy, I knew, was exaggerated to make one feel wanted. I hoped that was not the case in him right then. Because, in reality, I truly cared about him, and sometimes it felt like he cared about me that much, too.

"I'm sorry," he said. He pulled away long enough to kiss me. I say that: truly it was more comforting that just that. He held my head in place, and his lips brushed every inch of my face, very carefully, very gently. They brushed my own last of all, waited for me to catch them, released after a moment. Frodo laid my head back down against his heart, threading his fingers through my hair. Then . . . suddenly I relaxed. Suddenly I felt like I could have sympathy from him, like being protected was such a deep thing that I'd been somehow hoping for. It felt all right; I fell asleep with my head on his lap.

When I awoke the next morning, he was still sitting there, and I was still splayed across the couch, with my head in his lap. He'd laid one arm around my waist, carefully and gently locking me to the couch. His other hand rested on the side of my head.

That night Frodo was really home; not just for me but for my pains.

The next morning was no worse off, though. I was so tired, so emotionally banged up. I'd been dreaming about having a little one the night before. He looked just like Frodo . . . only the boy had my eyes, so it was a bit different. Somewhat disappointing, actually. Regardless, it was really hard, but a great deal of fun. A great deal of love. Love that I missed, that I could never have.

My head rolled over, knocking against Frodo's knee. My arm dangled over the side, and felt something. I wasn't exactly sure what it was. His foot, yes. In my state of muddledness, I had no idea. I jolted, straining to turn over. Frodo's arm held me in to the couch.

"You'll have to get up first," I said. His hand slipped under my neck and caught my opposite shoulder. "Because I'm not awake yet. Go ahead and leave me if you want; I'm staying here." It was one of those mornings where I couldn't get up, particularly because I felt comfortable right where I was. "I'm just so tired."

Frodo's thumb traced my scar, and I fell limp into his lap. His hand left my shoulder, and his fingers touched my mouth. His lips gently brushed my forehead, then deepened significantly. I mumbled to myself to retain sanity; I liked him a lot. He pulled away, brushed his lips against my cheek . . . then my eyelid . . . the tip of my nose . . . the other cheek . . .

Tingles lit up my brain, and suddenly I realized he might have been waiting for permission to stop . . . although I didn't want him to. "I'm awake," I said, initially and regardless. He hesitated, lips halted above my own. "I wouldn't mind, certainly, if you kept going," I elaborated. "I'd kiss you if I thought I could get up, but—,"

Apparently I could get up, because Frodo lifted me into a sitting position, holding me up in place. I felt like the roles had changed since the last time I'd done this to him. He held up the back of my head with his hand, and his lips met mine.

He held me there for some time, then released. My head laid against his shoulder, and he pulled me in tightly with both arms. I felt safe from all my self-inflicted trauma.

"Thanks, Frodo," I said. Emotions snapped in my head. "I like kissing you, did you know that?"

"Indeed . . ."

I pulled away. I couldn't believe exactly how attractive he struck me as. My fingers followed his hair down his face, his face that I couldn't have enough of. "I hope you know that," I said. "Because that's all I'll ever really need." I let my lips to his, for once initiating the kiss of myself. I didn't want to let go, but I did it anyway. Kissing him had given me that energy, although now I was hesitant to use it.

"Of course, if I don't get up and do something I might go crazy." I also wanted to see if he truly was comfortable there or if he would jump on the chance to stand up.

Frodo held my face. His thumb traced my cheek. "I thought you already were crazy."

"And you married me anyway. How does that work? I guess you really are cracked." I ruffled his hair. "You devil."

He got that odd look on his face; he was studying me again. I usually liked it when he did that. There were times, though, when he drove the resultant kiss way too deep, and I thought I would never recover from my internal dizziness. Usually I didn't feel conscious enough in those moments to tell him he had just left me disoriented beyond the point of recognition. But I thought I might like this one. His fingers felt my lips, and I initially shifted them. He kissed me again, with that whole feel behind it, the one that made me realize he wanted what he did. The one where I knew I could be attractive in some way. He almost drove it too deep, but somehow remained above that border, for which I was grateful.

We danced in the rain again later . . . courtesy of my crackedness, although I can't say that was a good thing.

Some time afterwards, Sheratan wrote me a letter. As I read it, Frodo was out somewhere, probably laughing at Merry and Pippin as they tried to snag some mushrooms. She told me she had seen the spirits of my future children, and that one was waiting, as his body was currently developing within me. I rubbed my stomach absentmindedly and smirked at that; I was pregnant. Admittedly I felt like exploding, and probably would for some time until the exploding factor became literal. Something impossible had happened: Sheratan explained that I had drained Frodo's blood so much that I had become enough like him to be mortal, to give him a family. Tears stained my face. We'd been trying so hard, and it didn't come down to nothing, either. And Frodo didn't know yet. When he got home, I decided. My eyes slipped closed, and I allowed myself to settle before reading again.

 _He's adorable, and Willation says he looks just like your husband (only much cuter, according to Willation)! Don't worry, you'll find a great name. I hope you and Frodo love each other very much, at least as much as I love you._

 _Farewell! I miss you!_

 _Sher_

I smiled; it was simply too much. Then the door opened and Frodo walked inside. He kissed me gently, then glanced at the letter, absentmindedly laying a hand over the one on my stomach.

"Sev?"

"You have a sweet face," I said, grinning. My resolve trembled, and I with it.

"Sev." He didn't like it as much when I stalled, but I rationalized that it was a love-hate concept.

"I wonder if we had a little Frodo . . ."

"Little Frodo?"

I chuckled nervously. "Well, Sheratan says it'll be a boy, so I'd assume he might look like you—,"

Frodo gasped, realization claiming him easily. He gathered my waist in his hands and swept me to the ceiling. I laughed, feeling rather triumphant. It had worked. All of it. As he lowered me to the floor, his lips brushed my face repeatedly, my lips periodically. Finally, though, he allowed a long enough kiss that I could kiss him back.

Frodo was home. I told him that, and he believed me; in fact, he told me I was his home, too. I had him in my arms, the man that had those stars and the source of my very life. He was there for me, beginning to end. Frodo was home.


	28. Bonus: Will Baggins

**Just a bonus chapter, because . . . well . . . I felt like there was too much sap towards the end and not enough struggle (because scars and disabilities and despair aren't sadistic enough). Muahahahaha . . . so this is post-Sheratan's letter, the entire lifetime of Will Baggins, duration 15 hours or so. It gets sappy again. :) Guess I just wanted to write something more for Sev.**

Of course, nothing ended there. Most of my troubles began following the first announcement of my pregnancy. We celebrated at the Green Dragon, for I had not gotten big and ill enough yet to warrant staying away from perfectly respectable hobbits. Rosie promised she would be at Bag End every day to help.

As we walked home I pondered her promise. I didn't know if I wanted anyone else while I went through this pain. Willation had sent a letter with Sheratan's, telling me most of my body was not prepared to handle a little one. The processes of taking care of the child would be very slapdash, dangerous, and risky. But I could take it alone, as long as the little one survived and no one else had to deal with me.

"Sev?"

I'd left Frodo behind at the Green Dragon to let him talk to Sam. Sam had a thing or two to say, or warn, about fatherhood for Frodo, although I doubted Frodo internalized much of it. He'd have to figure this out himself, as I would.

I turned slightly, still trying to walk quickly. "Yes, Frodo?"

He put his arm around my shoulders, but I kept going, so he gently pulled me to a halt. I turned my head.

"Sam says you shouldn't be walking."

I'd been hoping he wouldn't listen to Sam's cautions, simply because I didn't want him worrying about me too hard. But I accepted it anyway.

"Well, I can't sleep here," I said sarcastically, gesturing to the stone. "I guess I slept on a couch for ten years."

Frodo chuckled. "No." Like he had the day I married him, he bent over and slipped his arm under my knees, bringing me up into his arms. No matter how often he did it, I would never stop having that rush of pulse whenever he touched me, whenever my blood realized he had my life source running through him, and my psyche realized I had a family, and a best friend full of light I never had that cared about me.

As we ascended the step into Bag End, I could feel my balance slipping this way and that. I gripped his shoulders and neck to stay upright . . . then noticed his feet swaying back and forth.

"Are you drunk?" I tried to keep the worry out of my voice.

Frodo laughed. "No."

"You're trying to drop me on purpose!" I frowned, watching his swaying feet and how he seemed to dip me wherever I tried to counteract.

"Well, it's working," he said, letting his arms slack. I squawked, holding him hard. My cheek met his, and as he pulled his grip up to match where I had brought myself, I found I couldn't back away.

"You devil," I grumbled, although a smile came to my face.

"And you seem to like it, so I anticipate this will happen often," he said.

I gawked, pulling away to look at him. It strained my back to do so—probably a strategic move on his part—so I did not maintain it long. "Since when did you have this mischievous streak? Attitude, my dear Frodo, you truly are drunk!"

He shook his head. "Something Pippin recommended. He said we don't touch enough."

I snickered. "Well, what does he know? But he's right. We don't." Then I glanced at the ground, a good three feet below me. "Although, perhaps other methods will have to be found once I have a sufficiently larger second person growing in me."

Frodo halted before the door, and I released his neck with one hand even as he reached forward to open the door. "I've got it, I promise," I insisted. "You carried me up."

"But you are also pregnant, Sev." His tone dropped, and his eyes searched mine longingly. I almost thought he had found some form of sorrow in his words until a light smile lingered on his face. "Indeed you are." At his expression I realized it had been a miracle for us both that it actually happened.

I almost got him out of it, almost said we ought to go inside . . . until his lips touched mine briefly. He pulled away before I could do anything, and he kissed my nose. His eyes flickered, viewing mine as though asking for permission. His lips softly brushed against my face various times, little more than pecks but lingering enough to mean something. I cupped the back of his neck with my hand.

Soon I could feel him slacking. Troneterra, I could feel myself slacking in his arms. "Frodo, you're going to drop me," I muttered amusedly.

The door clicked open, but I didn't look up as Frodo walked inside, laying his cheek against mine. "No, I'm fairly sure I wouldn't." Then he picked up where he left off: gentle and not invading, as I had warned him against, but still relentless.

"And I'm fairly sure you're losing your concentration." Based on his very light persistence I didn't think he would be standing up much longer, much less enough to regain his composure. I struggled to stay off the ground. "Seriously, though, there is no way you can—,"

When Frodo's lips settled tenderly on mine, it took me aback enough that a muffled squawk built up in my throat until I kissed him back. His arms tightened around my shoulders and knees. My fingers rubbed over his head, through his curls, and he slowly set me down on the couch, but bent with me so his lips remained against mine as I backed into the couch. His hands traveled to my shoulders.

He pulled away slowly, and his eyes flickered again as his finger traced my hair. I wondered why he used his less convenient hand, until I noticed again the mark of Gollum's teeth on his hand. I shook my head as he bent down to kiss me again, his lips catching mine and pulling them out ever so slightly.

"Frodo," I muttered.

"Hmm?" He kissed my cheek and sat down by my side. Before he could bring my hand to his lips, I took his. He often tried to hide his hand with the missing finger, although he didn't try hard enough.

I snickered, eyeing it somewhat possessively: this marked Frodo as brave and resilient. Scars . . . he had lost so much, and somehow managed to pull through. I studied his hand, wishing I could heal it more than I had. I brushed my lips across the tip of his finger. He stiffened, but relaxed as I kissed it repeatedly. "You can't hide the best things about you."

He smiled at me, but then something settled in his eyes . . . something I feared. He was about to do something really sweet and wonderful. "Sev, I've been meaning to bring something up."

I glanced up at him, suddenly afraid. I pulled his hand into my lap and kept it there. "You can't have it back, Frodo, if that's what you're asking." I held it to my heart. "It's mine now."

He laughed, but I could see the red travel to his face as I laid his fingers against my neck. "Oh, Sev, it's all right," he said. Then he paused. "You may not like it, but you are, according to Sam, going to become a little more . . . fragile, I suppose. I won't keep you here, but I think it would be wise if you stayed with me. I . . . I would feel better if you stayed the night, if you didn't explore, and if you could be near me so I can help . . ."

I sighed, actually a little relieved.

"I'll stay," I said slowly.

He squeezed me to him. "Every night?"

I nodded. "But if you so much as hold my hand, you're not going to fall asleep until it's insanely late. So you have to promise I can kiss you and then you fall asleep. Deal, yes?"

He laid his head on my shoulder. "Of course," he said. "You'll need sleep as it goes."

"You've been listening to Sam a bit much," I replied, nudging him. But I turned pink anyway. "I'm happy you care about us, though," I said absently, laying my hand on my stomach. I could feel nothing abnormal yet. Frodo laid a hand over mine, then looped an arm around my shoulders.

A few minutes later I insisted he rise from the couch. Then we wandered into the adjoining bedroom. I kissed Frodo's forehead, then pressed my lips to his own as I laid him down with my hands against his shoulders.

"Now rest," I insisted. My fingers found his Morgul wound, and I gently fingered the fabric away from his shoulder to look at it. I kissed his cheek as the blackness faded away, and soon he breathed easily with sleep.

"I love you, my Frodo Baggins." I ruffled his hair. "You devil."

I stepped away from him, then slipped onto the other side of the bed, right near the edge. I listened to him, peacefully drifting in dreams I didn't understand. I didn't sleep; I turned over and watched him, two feet away on the huge bed. I pulled the blanket he discarded up to myself, embracing what I could with a grin on my face.

I spent most of every day at home, quickly becoming an invalid with my intermittent health and swelling stomach. I read mostly, but sometimes the pain shot through my head in stabs and burns. I rubbed my fingers on my head, moaning simply because I could. Rosie stayed over sometimes. Other times Frodo would pull me into his arms, comforting me as pains took over and I sarcastically griped with snickers behind my voice.

One day pain struck me early in the morning. I didn't want Frodo to leave; I felt so sick. My blood pulsed madly in my system, and I could feel the little one trying to shove his way out. Frodo laid me on the couch in the front room. I fell asleep, and when I awoke he'd vanished. Pains crashed against me, and I cried out for Frodo. The door of Bag End slammed open and Frodo raced inside.

My eyes flickered as I moaned, rolling over. I realized in a haziness that a damp rag covered my forehead.

"Frodo?" I muttered. Then my head began to shudder, and throbbing pains rocked through my body. I convulsed, and choking sounds escaped my throat. Frodo leaped forward, dabbing my forehead.

"Rosie says it's time," he said gently. "Sev, you're feverish." He grabbed my hand and threw it onto his shoulder. I realized then that I hadn't drained him in months. I'd been too tired, hadn't touched him much . . . now the Morgul poison flowed through me, igniting me for but a short moment.

Too late, my body had begun to supply my little one with the life force he required.

And suddenly a worry hit me as the shudders throughout my entire bloodstream escalated.

"Frodo, he's not going to make it!" I gasped.

Frodo shook his head hard, keeping my hand to his shoulder long after the poison departed. "No. You'll both be fine," he insisted, his voice low. I felt a new pulsing . . . then realized Frodo began to supply me with his own blood. He would die if I stayed long.

"No . . ." I muttered, trying weakly to yank my hand away. "Frodo, let me go. Frodo!"

"Sev, you'll be fine," he insisted.

"Not if you're drained, Frodo!" I jolted back, and the convulsions took over. When I looked at my palm, my scar throbbed. Frodo collapsed onto the floor, his face pale. I felt stronger, but not for long as new life tried to form within me.

"Frodo!"

Rosie and Sam sprang inside. The latter lifted Frodo away, placing him on a nearby couch. Rosie stroked my forehead as the convulsions grew more and more powerful, more and more painful. I cried out, writhing against myself as I tried to do what I was not designed to do.

"Frodo!" Tears streaked down my face. My child would not live. Frodo's pale, deathlike visage was the last thing I saw.

Then the world went black.

 _When I awoke, I barely had the strength to open my eyes. I glanced around and noticed towels damp with my purple blood everywhere. Rosie quickly rushed in, grabbing piles of them._

 _"Oh, you're awake!" She leaped forward, rubbing my face. I looked down at where my stomach had been so large before . . . I felt free, but empty._

 _"Where is he?" I pleaded, grabbing her sleeve._

 _"Coming back, I promise," she said. "We had to get him out of here. He woke up when you screamed, and he tried to help, but we couldn't let him. Besides, he wasn't strong enough."_

 _I hadn't been asking about Frodo, but thanked her regardless. "And my baby?" I persisted. "Where is he? Rosie, what happened?"_

 _Rosie sighed sadly. "Your umbilical cord, Sev . . . it wasn't sufficient. I had to take him back to Sam's Gaffer. They're trying to stop the bleeding, and the towels are supplying him with blood." She rubbed her fingers over my forehead as I breathed hard. "Just rest. We're doing all we can."_

 _I nodded, knowing if I sat upright like I wanted to Rosie would never let me go. "You're right." Then I paused. "If at all possible, will you at least bring him so I can hold him? Just once? No matter what happens?"_

 _Rosie hesitantly nodded. "I'll bring him right away." She pecked my forehead and slipped out the door._

 _I wanted to name him Will. He would live. I intended to sacrifice myself on his behalf if necessary. I would make sure he and Frodo both survived this day. I grabbed a nearby lamp and strained to stand . . . but then I saw my legs and arms. All were so devoid of blood, I could see the empty veins straining to pulse all left in them. I couldn't walk, and I couldn't move._

 _Much had been lost. Will didn't have enough, and I couldn't get to him to give him the rest of what I had. I sank back into the couch; I would wait for Rosie._

 _Frodo stepped in a few minutes later. He still looked a little pale, but somewhat better._

 _"How much did you let me drain?" I muttered. "Yesterday?"_

 _Frodo shrugged. "I'm not sure." He sat down next to me and took my hand. I almost snatched it away; I knew he would see my condition and insist he help. But the contact was so comforting in such a time, so I let it alone._ _Just a moment or two,_ _I decided. I wrapped his hand in both of mine and kissed it dizzily._

 _But before I could do anything about letting go, he eyed my legs, which were in a far worse state than anything else._

 _"Sev!" He turned back to me. "You don't have enough blood to supply him, much less yourself."_

 _I shook my head. "What's left in me should be enough to keep him alive."_

 _"But not you." Frodo leaned forward and took my face in his hands. We both began to breathe a little harder. His nose touched mine. "Sev, I'm not going to lose you. I'm not going to lose either of you."_

 _I could feel him leaning to kiss me, but he pulled away, allowing me to speak. "There's only enough between Will and me to keep one of us alive, Frodo. There's nothing more you can—,"_

 _Frodo pressed his lips against my own, almost desperately. I inhaled at what I knew would be the last kiss I ever shared with him, unless by some miracle we all survived this, but I knew it was impossible. Frodo's fingers entwined with mine, and he slowly lifted my hands to his shoulders. I felt his skin, knew the wounds were empty, but beyond the muddle of how deeply he kissed me I couldn't really process._

 _Until suddenly I felt my own body growing stronger . . . and Frodo's resolve weakening quickly._

 _He pulled away. His eyes flickered open, straining to stay._

 _"Frodo?" My eyes opened as well, but now I had the energy to cry out. "Frodo!"_

 _His whisper strained. "I'm not going to lose you. I love you, Sev. Take care of him." He kissed me one last time, and then his eyes slacked back, and he collapsed to the floor._

 _"Frodo!" I looked down at my hands as I grabbed him. They flowed with equal parts purple and red._

 _"No . . ." I moaned. "No, no, no! Frodo, no!" As I cautiously lifted his limp form into my arms, tears broke through. "Frodo, you devil, why did you do that?" I laid my hand against his cheek, which quickly began to grow cold. "Please don't leave me. If anything I should leave you . . . look at all this trouble I've caused!" I shook my head. As though arguing with his unconscious body I could make him take his own blood back._

 _I peered down at the Morgul wound. The flesh had become solid scar tissue, and I didn't dare touch it; I knew it wanted me to finish him off._

 _I wouldn't._

 _He'd been counting on it . . . but I wouldn't._

 _I pressed my hand to his heart, seeing if I could channel back what I had taken. Lo and behold, I watched his skin grow a little more pink as his blood returned to him. My body and I had learned how to sacrifice, even if my physical senses took this as an investment for more life later. He wouldn't take all of it, but it took enough for his eyes to almost flicker open._

 _So he was alive._

 _And Troneterra, he would stay that way._

 _"And I love you too, Frodo. You won't lose him," I insisted. I pecked his lips and tore away from the couch, although I could hardly do so. I grabbed a walking stick from the nearby wall to find Rosie before Frodo could hurt himself again._

 _I hadn't gone far before I truly began to weaken. I had just reached my old log when I collapsed to the ground, heard Frodo and Rosie behind me._

 _"Rosie, she'll kill herself."_

 _Rosie stepped up to me, a small bundle curled up against her collar. I reached for him, but she pulled back slowly._

 _"Frodo is telling me you plan to sacrifice all of your blood giving it to him, is this true?" Rosie asked. I didn't want to respond truthfully, but Frodo didn't lie either, and I somehow couldn't say no to Rosie._

 _I nodded. "Yes. But it's for a greater cause; Rosie, give me my child, please."_

 _She stepped back and I moved to stand. Frodo leaned forward, but I backed away._

 _"As though you were any less guilty," I grumbled. "I still have your blood within me."_

 _"But at least mine will provide itself with more," he insisted. "You will die if you do this, Sev."_

 _I pointed to Will. "But he will die if I don't!" But then my body slacked, and I swayed with sudden weakness. Frodo stepped up behind me and grabbed my shoulders, gently lowering me to the ground. His fingers tenderly stroked my arm, but I hid my hands from him._

 _"Sev, I'll let you heal him if you take more blood from me," he said. "It won't work any other way."_

 _"But you'll die," I protested._

 _He nodded slowly. "If you die first, I will soon follow and he will be left with no parents."_

 _I gave him my most incredulous stare. "As if it wouldn't happen of the reverse! If you die I will have nothing."_

 _He shook his head. "Sam and Rosie offered to keep you alive with whatever wounds they could. Perfectly supplied, Sev, not only relying on me for sustenance. Life would be better that way."_

 _Frodo looked so pleading that I conceded, but I had a plan anyway. Tears broke out of my eyes as I laid my hand on his shoulder, filtering through the fabric hesitantly. I bit my lip, and my head laid against his heart._

 _I could feel him weakening. Rosie gently laid my Will down in the crook of my other arm. Frodo wrapped his arms around us both._

 _"Sev, look." Frodo's lips touched my ear, and I looked at him. He nodded his head. I pulled my hand from his shoulder and fingered away the fabric surrounding the little hobbit nestled against me. I inhaled sharply._

 _He looked peaceful. Weak, but peaceful. His face was relaxed . . . the most adorable little face I'd ever seen. I felt a powerful stirring deep in my core, a need to let him live more than to let myself live. Something tied me to this little one. His eyes were open; they were my eyes. The expression of light and happiness, the dark hair already on the top of his head, was all Frodo's. But his eyes, the black veins within them and the blue of the irises, were mine with Frodo's light mixed in. For the smallest of moments, I could see that peace I had desired from Frodo reflected in something of myself. The precious child had us both and we could never let go; he tied us together._

 _He wriggled helplessly in my arms, and one of his small hands poked out, grabbing my finger. His wide-eyed gaze shifted to Frodo, and a broad smile covered his face. He laughed a little, pulling a small sob out of my lungs._

 _Then his smile settled as his eyes flickered between me and Frodo. I heard a voice enter my mind, and I stiffened. I could see him as he spoke, his voice and his physique transitioning with the years I might have seen him for._

 _Mother, it's all right,_ _he said._ _You and Father should live; there are seventeen more of us waiting!_ _He smiled; it was Frodo's smile, and it broke my heart. Then his expression settled:_ _I came here only so I could be here with you after you died. Willation told me the risks, told me I might not want to be born. But I did it anyway. I hope I didn't cause you more pain. I hope I've taught you something, even though I've only had a body for so long and won't for more than another hour. Please, have more children . . . for me. For Father. Don't give up your life for me. I'll watch you from here, protect you from here. You'd be surprised how convenient it is to be a spirit._ _Then he laughed. Frodo's laugh, only younger, deeper._ _I'm excited to see what you do. Just let me go. Then the next can come._

 _He cupped my cheek in his hand . . . or so it felt._ _I do love you, Mom. I would have loved to stay here with you, but you will see me again. I'm going to go talk to Father now._

 _With that he was gone._

 _I sat there in stunned silence, watching the dark blue eyes of the little one in my hands. His gaze had turned to Frodo, and I felt the latter's arms tighten around me. Moments later we were both in tears, huddling with the three of us close together._

 _"His name was Will?" Frodo asked after some time._

 _I felt the heartbeat of my little one fade in my hands. His eyes peacefully slipped closed, a final farewell . . . until later. I shuddered in Frodo's arms. "Yes," I whispered. "And we have to carry on."_

 _Despite my statement, I didn't want to carry on. I'd already lost one. I didn't know how I could face attempting another. And all the pain we'd gone through . . . I didn't know how to handle it. I didn't care about my own pain; I worried for Frodo. It took him almost a week to recover enough blood, even with my contribution, to function right._

 _He was sick the entire time. Somehow pneumonia managed to fight its way into Bag End. I experienced it during the end of my pregnancy, at my weakest moment; he had nothing to defend himself with._

 _I spent my days watching him like a hawk. I laid him in the huge bed and knelt next to him the moment Will had been buried, right next to Seville Gamgee. I kept a consistent gallon of water at my disposal if necessary, and I had Rosie bringing broth constantly. I didn't dare leave him for I fear he would be gone before I got back._

 _After three days of no sign of consciousness from Frodo, I began to fear. I could see his blood slowly, weakened, begin to spread around in his system. I rubbed his arm, relaxing myself. I longed to see his eyes open, to hear his voice, his laugh, to talk to him, to run with him . . . to feel his lips against mine. I feared I would never see him again, would lose what I had worked so hard to live for._

 _The moment he groaned, awakened, I shot up to a sitting position. I raced to the bed from a chair near him and threw my hand onto his Morgul stab. I could feel poison draining into my palm, and his own blood from me into his system. I grabbed his hand with my empty one._

 _"Frodo!" I stroked his face as his breathing began to intensify. "Frodo, please be all right." My fingers traced his temples and nose, cupped his cheek. I gently touched his soft, pale lips. "Please wake up."_

 _His lungs racked with coughs. I gasped, sitting upright. I cautiously framed his face with my fingers as he jolted. "Frodo!"_

 _Frodo's eyes flickered open, the crystal blue shocking me. "Frodo, you're awake!" I gently, but rather uncontrollably, gathered him into my arms, tight against me. My eyes slipped closed, reverencing this moment I had with him. He hadn't died._

 _"Sev . . ."_

 _"You're sick," I murmured, rubbing his back. His body rattled, trying not to cough. I laid him back down, pressing gently on his chest until he succumbed to coughing a little. I brought the damp rag to his forehead, probing around. I felt his face again, having not searched for fever when I touched him before._

 _Admittedly I couldn't tell if he did or not._

 _"You devil, you kind of brought this on yourself," I admitted, worry and pain tainting my voice as it escalated; I couldn't look at his eyes for fear I couldn't keep going. "Will didn't survive, and I know you did all you could. But don't scare me like that! You matter more than anything to me, and I wouldn't bear losing you. As if I thought the Ring was dangerous! If you died you'd somehow do it trying to protect me. But Frodo, you can't keep sacrificing yourself like this, if not for your sake for mine. All right, so it's selfish of me to wish that I had died, but I could have left Will alive. I don't know how much better or worse your life would have been." I threw my empty hand in the air. "You both are so obstinate! Trying to save lives when you two are the valuable ones, the ones with light in your eyes. Did you see his face? Bright, just like yours. Nothing will rip that light away from this world, not while I'm around. I guess my whole point is your caution has gotten you here. I guess maybe you think this the better alternative as it is . . ."_

 _He inhaled slowly, and I stopped, tears rushing to my eyes._

 _"Sev . . ."_

 _I glanced up at him. His eyes never left mine, even when I busied myself with other tasks._

 _A tired smile flickered over his face. "I'm glad you're with me," he said finally. It emerged as more of a sigh, as something difficult to muster, especially after my rant. I bit my lip._

 _"I am too," I said finally._

 _"You didn't sound like it," he said. "You almost sound like you'd rather be dead than here with me."_

 _I could feel my heart ripping. "No!" I insisted. "I just wish Will had lived." I threw it aside. "Apparently that was his decision. Frodo, I could do nothing. But I tried everything."_

 _He just watched me, a little blank, a little tired, a little broken._

 _"Oh, Frodo." I touched his face, but he didn't react much as I tenderly fingered his skin. "You did everything to keep us both alive, me and Will. But I knew I wouldn't live without you . . . couldn't." I brought his hand to my lips, clammy as he was, and kissed it between words. "I wanted to let the two of you survive. But Will was right; it would have limited the family to be rid of either of us. This way there is a new start to everything."_

 _Frodo laid back, still looking a little distraught. I cocked my head._

 _"What is it, Frodo? Please, I want to help."_

 _He shook his head. "I just need some time."_

 _With what I didn't know. He'd said so little since awakening. I feared leaving him, thinking I might come back to find him dead or emotionally distant, at least in worse condition in some way._

 _But suddenly a pang of guilty, harsh remorse overcame me._

 _Maybe you would be better off dead. You're only making matters worse for him in any sense of the word._

 _I kissed his forehead, trembling deep down. "I'll leave you, then." I didn't intend to come back, but he need not know. Rosie would care for him; he would be happier left to himself. "Goodbye, Frodo." I turned and left before he could say anything._

 _I departed Bag End immediately, crossing the road and headed down to the burial grounds. I found Seville Gamgee's little marker, and Will Baggins right next to her. I knelt beside the latter, fingering the stone._

 _He'd said it came out best for him to die, but I didn't understand. His was a life I might have saved, had Frodo and I waited for my body to adapt correctly. But we never could have known if or when it would have worked._

 _My fingers gripped the earth. I should have died long before I made a mess of Frodo's life, before I made everything so complex. Leaving at the Grey Havens would have just made existence easier for him, isolated and peaceful in a land far away. I should have left him, departed myself and allowed my very existence to deteriorate before I caused remorse and confusion within him._

 _Sometimes I wondered if he even wanted me here. I didn't know how to read his reactions earlier. I analyzed them until my brain ached, although I still could delve nothing more than one thing:_

 _Frodo wishes you hadn't done anything that you did._

 _My eyes clenched closed, as did my hands. I didn't intend ever to see him again; I'd hurt him enough, as much was evident when he told me he needed time to himself. Perhaps all he needed was time, but I couldn't imagine nothing else would be required of me. Exhaustion and despair swept over me in waves, refusing to back down. I crumpled into a ball._

 _By the time I'd trembled and swayed and sobbed enough to quiet myself, I tightened my fingers around the hilt of my knife. I didn't want it to end this way, but if it would let Frodo have peace at last I had to do it._

 _"Mom?"_

 _I stiffened, my back straightening. I spun around, but I could see no one. I didn't recognize the voice; it wasn't Will._

 _"Hello?" I asked._

 _"Mom? What are you doing?"_

 _The voice entered my head, although I could have sworn it came from somewhere around me first._ _Mom, don't do that._

 _Into my head came the image of a little girl, petite with curly-black hair and, again, my eyes. But her veins were not black. She had only one arm that supported her on a crutch. She looked pale . . . but somehow she seemed the happiest little girl I'd ever laid eyes on._

 _"Who are you?" I asked carefully._

 _Mom, I'm the last child you will ever have,_ _she said._ _Last in line up here. We're all anxious to be down. And I know it's going to take a lot of time, and a lot of pain. I'll never have two arms or two healthy legs, but please, I want to see you._ _She smiled. I expected tears to come to her eyes, but they never did._ _This process will all be painful, but you've got to keep going! Some of us won't make it very far, but we love you the same. You'll watch some of us get married, Mom. Would you really give up your life thinking that we don't care about you? That Father doesn't? If you don't keep going, none of us will ever see you again. You'll just . . . fade. Father doesn't want that. We don't want that._

 _"I don't know how you could want me, my dear," I said slowly, not wanting to let her go. I didn't know her yet, but her happiness and resilience reminded me so much of Frodo. I'd never have a child and not see him in their eyes. "You've seen what I've done . . . what I'm still doing, how I continue to think despite wonderful things that you tell me."_

 _Mom, I love you no matter what you do._ _She knelt down with a struggle. I leaned forward to help, but I couldn't touch her; she was simply in my head._ _Father will too. He does things that drive you crazy, and it's reciprocated, I know._

 _"So what do I do for him?"_

 _You can't always keep him happy, Mom. I know that's your point in life, but sorrow is mandatory! Perhaps not your level of it, but Father will be upset at times._

 _"Do I leave him alone?" I asked. "You probably know more about what goes on in his head than I do."_

 _She shrugged._ _It probably depends. Probably try to approach him, and if it doesn't work back away for a little while. But always let him know that you love him. Don't let a day pass without telling or showing him in some way._ _Then she paused at my hopeless expression._ _So sometimes it won't give you the results you want or expect, but it's all you can do._

 _I sat back._

 _Live, please,_ _she said._ _I want to come, and you guys are my only chance. I've been waiting for thousands of years._

 _I bit my lip, cutting off the negativity building up within me. She stuck her hand down beyond my vision, and I felt something prod and tug at my heart._

 _Come on! Get up! Go find him! He's ready, and so are we._

 _"But he's sick," I said slowly._

 _You can heal him if you go to him. Go, Mom._

 _A warm peace settled over me, and the tears cut themselves off. I felt my entire family there with me: the children I would someday have, Willation and Sheratan I had lost, Frodo I would always have. "I love you . . ." I paused, thinking of a name. I looked at her hair: a little blacker than Frodo's, fuller and longer like mine. "Ebony."_

 _Her smile grew wider. She stroked the top of my head with her one hand._ _I love you too, Mom._ _Then she vanished._

 _Ebony. Why Ebony? I liked the name; I only hoped Frodo would, but I didn't understand where it had come from._

 _I stood slowly. I hadn't heard from Will since he died, but I had to believe he would be there waiting for me when Frodo and I eventually moved on._

 _It took me a few minutes before I finally decided to leave. As I turned around, I heard Rosie calling out to me._

 _"Sev!" She raced down from Bag End. I stepped forward and greeted her; she flew into my arms, and I stumbled back in surprise._

 _"Frodo was yelling for you about ten minutes ago, told me you were going to kill yourself!" Rosie's tears soaked my sleeve, and she sniffled. "Sev, how could you? He's having a panic attack, for heaven's sake! And he's trying to break away from Sam, but he's too weak, thank goodness."_

 _"If he's doing anything he's too weak for . . ." She let me go, and I dashed up the road, racing into Bag End. I could hear Sam begging him to stay put, and a thump._

 _"Mr. Frodo, please come lay down!" Sam insisted._

 _"Sam, Will said she's going to kill herself." I grabbed the knob and threw it open, leaping inside. I knocked into Frodo, who staggered back. I held him up by his hands before he could fall all the way, and Sam helped me stand him on his feet._

 _"Sev?" Frodo sounded horribly exhausted. I noted quickly a trickle of blood racing down from his knee, and I stared at Sam. The latter nodded somewhat sheepishly and slipped out the nearby door. It clicked shut behind him._

 _"Frodo, lie down," I insisted._

 _He gripped my shoulders with a strength far too intense for his condition, but I let him at it. The sooner he tired the sooner he would have no choice but to back onto the couch._

 _"Sev, why would you?" He sounded tired, not accusatory as Rosie had. "Why would you leave me?"_

 _I bit my lip. "You sounded—" I swallowed, not daring to meet his eyes. They were level with mine; it was impossible to avoid them. He looked hurt, but also very relieved. "You sounded upset with me, disappointed. I thought—I thought I'd failed you, and I didn't want to hurt you anymore. Or any of the rest of them."_

 _"Sev . . ." He pulled me into his arms. I held his frail form as he shuddered against me. It shocked me when my shoulder opposite of the one Rosie had cried on began to grow damp as well. He made no movement, no sound, as tears trickled down my back._

 _I gasped. "Oh, Frodo, you devil!" I held him closer. "You blue-eyed, wonderful devil. I'm so sorry."_

 _We stood there in silence for a minute, savoring a moment as we both overcame a fraction of the sorrow no doubt to come ahead. I hoped Frodo didn't see life with as much pessimism as I did . . . but all I needed was him._

 _"I love you," I said. "I hope you know that."_

 _"You just frightened me," he said._

 _I snickered somewhat bitterly. "Well, you did it first. Getting pneumonia like that." I probed his back with my fingers. "Just be careful, alright?"_

 _Frodo's fingers caressed my shoulders. He started to pull away, and his lips brushed my cheek as he did. He slowed, and he dotted my cheek with soft kisses. I kissed him as he backed away, and his lips met mine carefully, pulled away for a brief moment, then came again with more gentle insistence._

 _He gathered me into his arms, brushing his lips across my forehead, my nose, my closed eyelids. I stilled him for a moment._

 _"Will spoke to you?"_

 _He nodded. "You?"_

 _I shook my head. "Another one did . . . Ebony."_

 _He cocked his head. "Ebony?" Then he paused. "Sev, I don't know if you're ready." His arms tightened protectively around my shoulders. "I don't know if I'm ready to get so close to losing you again."_

 _"She thinks it's time," I said persistently. "Frodo, you've got to trust me." I pulled slowly—and very hesitantly—out of his arms and stepped to the fireplace, lifting a pot of boiling water Rosie had set earlier in the day. Frodo approached from behind while I stirred chocolate into the metal container and set it aside. I could feel myself shaking at what Frodo would say._

 _"You're sick," I said slowly. Then I looked up at him. "Ebony said I can help."_

 _Frodo sat down, suddenly looking interested. My eyes slipped closed and my face heated; I'd gathered he would react that way._

 _I sat down at the table and pushed a bowl of soup in front of Frodo, which he took without letting his eyes off of me. He continued eating that way, although I didn't understand how he wanted me to elaborate._

 _I shrugged. "I don't know what else more you want me to say, Frodo."_

 _"Say you're excited," he said finally._

 _My eyes probably just about popped out. "Excited?"_

 _"You're doing everything for me, for our future family." He stirred the soup around for a moment. "For once feel like you're doing something for you, Sev: you're creating a family for you. And you're staying here at Bag End for you, not just for the family." He reached forward and softly picked up my hand. I faltered as he took it in both of his own, tracing my knuckles. "So tonight we do what you wish to do. We don't jump right into it . . . we sit up and read if you wish, I go to sleep and you pace if you wish . . . we dance all night if you wish."_

 _"Frodo, can you handle that?" I forced a teasing sound into my tone, but felt dead serious._

 _He nodded. "If you can heal me, I've been sleeping for a week and would just like to spend a night with you." His eyes flickered to mine and a grin spread on his face. "With my Sev Baggins."_

 _The sun had not yet set._

 _I smiled, glancing at the floor. The sunlight shimmered against Frodo's eyes, making them shine. I stood, then directed him over to the couch. He sat down._

 _"So I'm not taking anything very deep tonight," I said as an initial warning. His expression fell just a little. "But we might as well start with this . . . just to ensure you're well enough to be here."_

 _Frodo sidled closer to me, and his eyes closed. I inhaled deeply: sweet, simple, not deep . . . just how I always wanted it. It couldn't always be, because Frodo needed more. I slipped my hand over his shoulder. Making contact through the fabric allowed the process to go slower, to be more gentle and less like I was bleeding him . . . more like we were friends or something._

 _My fingers prodded his shoulders carefully as my forehead met his. I pulled away and laid a slow kiss against it, buried another in his thick curls. At first I kissed his face slowly, methodically—his jaw, his nose, the gentle skin over his eyes—but soon I couldn't keep it back. I breathed deeply, tenderly stroking his soft cheek as I continued, taking in his features because just looking at them wasn't sufficient; I had to have them._

 _The vibrations from my palms began to increase—I was reaching the end of the poison still within him. I could feel his pneumonia adding to my strength, and as my lips brushed his at last we both had the energy we hadn't for months, ever since I'd started internalizing Will. He pulled me tighter into the kiss, and although it was by no means deep it was sweet . . . and he moaned just a little bit. He could finally appreciate something, with the pneumonia and blood loss out of the way._

 _I danced with him the rest of the night. He somehow managed to stay awake the whole time. Close to dawn, when the moonshine bore through the windows and illuminated my white dress, we finally ended the lively swinging and I wrapped my arms around his neck. I began humming a slow, almost haunting melody I'd learned from Pippin, the only really romantic song he'd ever written about his love Diamond. Frodo joined in, his deeper voice thrumming through his chest._

 _Eleven months later, the night before his birthday, I remembered I hadn't kissed him good morning in a long time. Usually when I spent the night at Bag End I habitually stayed inside: pregnancy left no time or capability for prowling. I also remembered I hadn't been conscious the year before: sickness and the struggle with Will were prevalent at the time. Although I was nine months along again, I resolved I would be conscious for his birthday this year._

 _I drained him when I sent him to bed; I could feel the convulsions of my blood preparing to kick my child out of my body. Admittedly I wondered if this one would be healthy; he or she was so large._

 _The birth went without a hitch . . . or so Rosie told me. I didn't know if I believed her, until she handed me a huge bundle with two little hobbits tucked inside. I gawked. I'd been carrying twins for nine months, hadn't even realized it. My body had adapted, but these were so little, so fragile. A boy and a girl, the former with thick, red hair and the latter with a smattering of black._

 _I had to think about their names for a while, a few hours before dawn. "Peregrine and Rosie?"_

 _Rosie blushed deeply, and I laughed. She told me I looked tired; I had still lost a lot of blood, but not enough to be an issue. I'd be tired for a few weeks, nothing more, but Rosie still insisted she keep the twins at her place while I crept back into Bag End with Frodo._

 _I wanted to do something important for Frodo's birthday. I paced outside the bedroom door, debating as the sun rose. Finally I just decided—nervously—to get in there and kiss him until he didn't know his left hand from his right. That made me more nervous and shaky than anything. I'd done it, and while he appreciated it I didn't know my own fingers from each other, I was so dizzy when finished._

 _So I slowly let the door open . . . but when I saw Frodo sleeping peacefully there, knew we were both safe—I knelt down next to the bed and lifted his feather-soft hand from beside me. I kissed each fingertip, the one Gollum bit last of all. I caressed that last one._

 _"Good morning, Frodo," I murmured, brushing my lips against the back of his hand multiple times. He moaned uncertainly. I leaned up to his face and kissed the border of his jaw, planted kisses across his cheek and lined his nose with them. "Happy birthday."_

 _"Indeed it is." He sought my lips with his own, touched them multiple times before sitting up. He pulled me into his arms, and I let him do what he would, brushing his lips across my face. But he was too tired to go deep with it, and I left it at that. He laid a hand on my stomach . . . then stiffened._

 _"Sev, what happened?"_

 _"Happy birthday," I said again._

 _He turned me to face him. His eyes were sharp, absolutely beautiful. "Boy or girl?"_

 _I shrugged. "Why not both?" I laughed at his expression. "Frodo, there were two of them! Are two of them!" I corrected at his concern. "Peregrine and Rosie Baggins; what do you think?"_

 _He laughed. "Sev, two of them!"_

 _I felt Will in my heart, and Ebony, and the dozen others waiting. I embraced Frodo. "Happy birthday." I never got tired of saying that. "Come on, today will be exciting."_

 _He nodded against my head. "Not quite," he said. "A few more moments, Sev?"_

 _I paused, glancing up at him. "Frodo?"_

 _"I feel like spending the morning kissing, Sev," he said, his face turning a bright red. "I don't mind if you feel like doing it in front of Pippin and Merry, or even poor Sam for that matter . . . but I want nothing more today." He leaned close, his pulse audible from my near proximity to his heart. "Nothing deeper."_

 _"There certainly has been a lack since the pregnancy started, hasn't there?" I sighed, not reluctant at all, rather shivering. "Well, what are you waiting for, you devil?" I looked into his eyes . . . and saw home._

 _Frodo laughed, and his lips softly brushed mine, caught me as he pulled me to my feet, spinning me around in his arms._


End file.
